Not So Typical
by favoritefullbloodedhawiian
Summary: Hermione won't tell anyone about last summer. It's too painful for even her to cope with, how could she dump it onto someone else? A detention with Snape changes that. He discovers her summer secrets, along with a secret she's kept her whole life...
1. Chapter 1

_Not So Typical_

Hermione bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out as he made yet another cut across her stomach. She soon tasted blood, but the pain in her mouth compared not to the pain in the realization that this man, this familiar face that was now tainted by an ill-fitting sneer, this boy she once felt attracted to--- was not to be trusted. He was not the man she'd once thought.

Mostly to force her mind to tear away from the present, she begrudgingly thought of this summer trip she'd once been intrigued by, only to have it turn sour.

_As soon as she'd gotten the invitation fr__om Viktor, she instantly felt elated. She hadn't seen him in three years, since his school left Hogwarts in the fourth year. She'd be spending two and a half weeks over at his Manor in Bulgaria. She simply couldn't wait. _

_How ironic_she thought, _that __it was this I couldn't wait for. _She prevented herself as best she could from looking at him. His lustful stare was more than she could handle, and the malicious grin playing on his lips didn't fit well on the face she had known for so long.

_She spotted him the second she stepped off the landing of the Knight Bus and onto the rain soaked grass. She was incredibly tired after the long trip, but seeing him, his beaming face, his body bouncing up and down on this toes in excitement, had completely washed her away her exhaustion. She dropped her bags on the spot and ran to embrace him. It felt amazing to finally be with him after three years of exile. _

_After they'd settled her in, it was only six o'clock. They went out to dinner and a local dinner called "Marie's". After, they'd taken a ride (by broomstick) up to a magnificent cliff overhanging a dazzling lake. Each star in the sky sparkled on the lake's surface. It was truly a post-card worthy sight. _

Hermione sighed heavily, sadly. Oh, how she had loved that cliff over the lake.

_She felt as if nothing would make her happier than to sit on that cliff and forget- forget about the impending war, forget about Voldemort, and even forget that this war may see the end of Harry Potter. And for a while, she almost succeeded. _

She remembered their conversation word for word. It was etched in her mind, as clearly as if it were happening to her right then. The memory left a tart taste in her mouth.

_Viktor turned toward her slowly, his dark eye's dancing by the moonlight. She felt her heart flutter when he looked at her like that. _

_"Herm-own-ninny," he began, her face cracking a smile at the disoriented way he said her name, "__let's__ play a game."_

_"Sure, Viktor.__ What kind of game?" she asked innocently. _

_"I trust you, Herm-own-ninny. I vould like nothing more than to have you trust me too."_

_"I trust you, Viktor. Of course I do__"__ Hermione said, confused. _

_"Then this should be fun," Viktor said with a smile she wasn't all too sure she liked. "The game is to build up each others trust. __Ve__ each have to tell our deepest secrets."_

_Uh-oh, Hermione thought. __Anything but this._

_"__Uhh__, Viktor, I'm not sure---"_

_"But I thought you trusted me, Herm-own-ninny," Viktor muttered, suddenly angry._

_"I-I do Viktor, it's just—"_

_"You obviously don't, or else you __vouldn't__ have argued, now vould you?"_

_"I…fine. I'll play," Hermione muttered, wondering what she was going to tell him. Could she tell him the truth? How would he react? Should she even chance it?_

_"Great!" Viktor exclaimed, his normal gleaming smile back in place. "Vould you like to go first?"_

_"No, no…you go," Hermione muttered. _

_"Alright…the truth is…I'm not good __v__ith__ magic," he murmured, very softly. So softly, in fact, that she had to lean forward to hear him._

_"You…what?__ Of course you are, I've seen you," Hermione argued._

_"You've seen me__ do very simple things __vith__ a __vand__. That's about as good as it gets. They almost labeled me a Squib until they saw my ability to __vork__ a broom. Being a Quidditch player, I rarely have to use magic. It __von't__ impair me too much," he said with an air of finality, his look daring her to laugh at him, daring her to refuse to stay with him any longer._

_She surprised him by saying, "That doesn't make you any less of a wizard, Viktor. I'm used to prejudice, being a __muggle__-born. You didn't think I'd actually care if you weren't good with magic, did you?"_

_"I…no, but you are the first person I've ever told. I didn't know how you'd react. But never mind that now. Vat is your secret?" he whispered, his eyes glittering in anticipation. _

_Hermione took a deep breath. How badly could he take it? If worse came to worse, she'd __Obliviate__ him until he forgot all about it. _

_Slowly, carefully, Hermione freed her well kept secret. She watched as Viktor grew white. She knew he believed her. She also knew he was shocked and it would take him a while to become comfortable about the idea. _

_Which is why she was baffled when he suddenly smiled spitefully. "You made a mistake in trusting me, Herm-own-ninny."_

_She thought he was kidding. She knew it wasn't a funny joke. But she thought it a joke nonetheless. That is, until he sneered, "You realize you just handed me blackmail, do you not? __Silly, stupid girl.__ I almost feel sorry for you. __Almost.__ Oh, __ve're__ going to have fun, Herm-own-ninny. Be sure of that."_

_He'd Apparated them both to his Manor, dragging her along by the hair. She was too shocked to struggle, or even focus on her location, until she felt her arms being forced above her head. She tried to pull them back to her sides only to grow frustrated when they remained where they were. She soon saw that she was cuffed to a pipe that led across the chilly stone basement of the Manor. _

_Hermione tried to plead with him. "Viktor…Viktor, what's going on? What are you doing, Viktor? Let me go, now," she whispered. _

_He laughed humorlessly. "Now, __vhy__vould__ I do a thing like that, Herm-own-ninny? No, but I __vill__ tell you the rules."_

_"Rules?__Rules for what?"__ Hermione asked incredulously._

_"__Vatever__ I do to you, __vatever__ I tell you to do, you __vill__ comply. In fact, you __vill__ not do anything other than scream. Yes, I __vill__ allow you to scream. I'll rather like the sound, I think. If you do not do as I ask, I __vill__ make a small cut on your stomach. Am I clear?" he whispered menacingly. _

_Clear? _Clear?_ If he was trying to tell her he was a sick, perverted bastard, than yes, clear as glass. _

_"__Why __my stomach?"__ Hermione asked through the steady trail of tears that had begun, trying to by __herself__ some time. _

_"__It is the most unlikely place to be seen, you see. But I'm afraid I did not ask you if you had any __qvestions__. I asked you if I was being clear. You've earned your first cut. A simply V, I think, for Viktor," he whispered with a grin. _

_Hermione didn't have time to blink before she felt an agonizing pain in the middle of her stomach, followed by a trickle of warm liquid. _

_That was when she began to scream. _

_"Now, Herm-own-ninny," he said over her cries, "I will give you von chance to beg for your virginity to remain intact. Grovel, now."_

_Hermione, mustering all her courage and trying to grasp her fleeing dignity, said calmly, "I do not beg, you bastard."_

_He gave a cry of rage and began carving, more intensely this time, more deeply, into her stomach. Through the blood and the pain, Hermione vaguely saw him undoing his pants, and then tearing at her skirt. That was when she slipped into the welcome realms of the unconscious. _


	2. Chapter 2

Three Weeks Later

Hermione let her gaze fall on the landscape speeding by the compartment window. The Hogwart's Express rumbled along through the mountains, Ron's voice vaguely trickled in her ear, and a sense of familiarity settled over her like a cocoon of safety.

Hermione's concentration was a rare thing these days, but luckily she knew that with Ron, a few well timed nods was all the participation he needed to keep the conversation flowing. With Harry there putting in his own share, it took even less than that. It wasn't that Ron was selfish or didn't pay attention to Hermione or anything of the like- he just was never good with emotions or deciphering Hermione's actions so he'd long ago given up trying. He took whatever he saw or whatever she told him to be true, which was what Hermione wanted.

She had to be more careful with Harry. He was another topic altogether. Unlike Ron, he was the ultimate mastermind at shielding others from his emotions, of building walls around himself. He knew when someone had something gnawing at them. But Hermione had become an amazing actor over the years. With a little determination, he too would have no idea there was even a problem.

When of course there was a problem. She had nightmares like time work each night. Her stomach still held a wound that had not yet healed, a name engraved by knife in her skin. She knew well that 'Viktor Krum' scar would never fade altogether. She had trouble trusting anyone, let alone the whole student body. She wondered who she would tell if she ever decided to. Harry would want her to go to the authorities while Ron would want to kill Viktor with bare hands. Neither of them knew she had a secret on the line as well, not just her dignity. No, she would never tell.

"Hermione? You with us?"

"Nope, she's lost it Harry. Happens to the best, I'm afraid."

Hermione turned to them and saw them both staring at her, Ron with laughter on his face at his own jibe, Harry with concern etched in his eyes.

"Oh…I'm sorry, what?"

Harry sighed, well learned that she wasn't about to divulge what distracted her. "We asked you—"

"About four times—"

"—if you'd heard about Carmen Riviera."

"Heard about her as in heard _of_ her? Oh, yes. I have," Hermione smiled faintly, but it was unnoticed by Harry and Ron.

Carmen Riviera was, in a nut shell, an idol to females and a goddess to males. There was one word to describe people like Carmen Riviera, and that's gorgeous. She was of Spanish ethnicity, though she moved to England at the age of 8 to pursue a career. Occupationally, she sang mostly music that appealed to teenagers, miraculously without being trashy. She also performed on Broadway and in operas. She'd starred in a handful of award winning films with leading actors, though she was probably on top. She was admired and even loved by her fans. And all by the age of 17.

"No, 'course you heard of her, who hasn't? No, but did you hear that she'll be singing at Hogwarts?" Harry said enthusiastically.

"In December, too! That's only four months away," Ron added.

"Really? Wow, I think I _had_ heard that somewhere. That'll be fun," Hermione muttered half-heartedly, her faint smile still firmly in place as though reminiscing on an old joke.

"Fun? That's an understatement if I ever heard one! Her songs are so…are so…" With that, Ron burst into a butchered performance of one of Carmen Riviera's most popular songs. Both Harry and Hermione clutched their ears and really tried as hard as they could to keep from laughing. Much easier said than done.

"Just a few words before we divulge in our delectable feast," Dumbledore said softly. The room fell silent instantly. "Now, as many of you have, I'm sure, heard, we will be graced by a most famous singing sensation come December. Now, it will be Miss Carmen Riviera's first ever concert here at Hogwarts and I want each and every one of you to be_have. _She is also of the magical essence to magic, in moderation, may be performed but any foolish pranksters will serve detention our caretaker, Mr. Filch," Dumbledore said sternly. He got a few nods in response but mostly blank stares. Never try to lecture hungry children. "I see we are all tired and famished so let me excuse myself. Let the feast begin." He clapped his hands together and every imaginable delicacy appeared before them on golden platters.

A murmur of excitement swept through the house tables but Snape's glare was enough to keep it at bay and away from the head table. Forced between Flitwick and that great oaf Hagrid, what was there to be excited about? And now, having that pop star perform at the school...

No, he corrected himself. It wasn't the pop star herself. He'd actually rather enjoyed the movies she'd stared in and the opera's she'd performed—her singing _was_ exquisite. And, being human, he couldn't deny the fact that the girl herself was beautiful; exotic and mysterious, she captured interest. No, it was more the fact that they were having a concert at all that caused the grimace painted on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, blah blah. J.K. rules all, why do we bother with these disclaimers? Sheesh.

Author's Note: Ok, I kind of left off at a really bad place. The last line waaas: No, it was more the fact that they were having a concert at all that caused the grimace painted on his face. So continue from there.

It was just another opportunity to have students wander off unsupervised…it would be like the Yule Ball all over again. Ye Gods, he hated dances. Concerts would be undeniably worse.

Fifteen minutes into the wretched dinner, Snape felt the beginnings of a migraine. Blasted children. He pinched his nose to take some of the edge off and decided they'd all had enough of his presence and he'd be able to leave without being thought of as utterly rude. Pushing back from the table, he lived up to his title and swept from the Great Hall like a large bat with wings.

Hermione used her fork to make a mashed potato army fort with a gravy mote. So far she'd sliced her chicken into tiny soldiers and chopped up her green beans to make grass. The wonders one can make when one is utterly bored.

"I think the soldiers could use some carrot guns," Harry muttered beside her.

She looked up to see him smiling at her. It pleased her that she could make him smile. With the final battle drawing infinitely closer, his smiles were far and few but radiant when they came. She almost smiled sincerely back—though not quite. She hadn't smiled since…

"Or you could always kill off a few of them and have them bleed tomato sauce," Ron suggested.

This time she giggled. Once again, it was insincere. But it still felt nice. She hadn't laughed in weeks. That was one of the things about Harry and Ron—you couldn't help but smile when you were with them.

She was reluctant to leave. But she could feel the pain coming. Not physical pain. She'd long ago grown numb to such. At least, she'd grown numb to the _memory_ of physical pain. No, it was more emotional pain, however much she hated to admit it. She'd never gotten over the deceit, and she rather doubted that she ever would. Hermione was never considered vain but she knew she was intelligent. How could such a girl have been fooled so whole heartedly? She'd _known_ Viktor, befriended him, perhaps some day she'd have grown to _love _him. How could she have been so wrong? How could someone so young be so heartless? Was he _that_ desperate?

Yes, the pain was definitely coming.

She smashed down her fort with her fork and said, "I think I'll just call it a night. Unpacking and all…" Without waiting for a reply, she climbed off the bench and calmly walked through the heavy doors. She barely made it through when the tears came.

Snape ignored the sound of the Great Hall doors opening behind him. He was hidden well enough in the shadows so as not to be seen. He did, however, stop in his tracks at the sound of a strangled sob. He whirled around to see Miss Granger leaning beside the doors, her hands covering her face, shaking her head as if denying something. She hadn't changed much over the summer. Her bushy hair was piled atop her head. She was still thin and pale. Snape shook his head. Why he was thinking of her appearance when she stood there sobbing, he couldn't say.

_What should I do? Shall I go to her? What would I say? Should I just leave and pretend that I saw nothing? No, no, I can't do that. What shall I do?_

As he mulled over his actions, he heard faintly, "And the scars will never fade…" Looking at her closely, he understood. She'd lifted her modest knit sweater up a little past her belly button and Snape could see angry red marks scrawled across the pale plane of skin. For a moment, the crude marks almost looked like writing, like words. But as soon as it was lifted, the sweater was pulled down and Miss Granger was off down the hall, leaving behind a rare sight—a bewildered, dumbfounded Severus Snape.

Hermione, rather than unpacking her things in her new, private Head Girl's room, shoved her trunk to a corner. She flopped onto her bed and tried vainly to stifle the tears, but a couple weeks worth of experience told her that once they'd started, stopping them would be quite an ordeal. Sleep, mercifully, came quickly that night.

Snape paced back and forth in his unlit living room, kicking over various items that stood in his path.

What had he just seen? Could it really be the effects of child abuse? No, no—though he'd never met the Granger's, Hermione was certainly intelligent enough to report abuse. Could the wound have been self-inflicted? No, for this she was also too clever.

What on earth could have happened to that girl?

"Double Potions on the first day of school? Why don't they just kill us now?" Ron asked incredulously. He was never very up-beat at breakfast. He braced himself for the verbal grating he was to receive from Hermione, as he did whenever he bashed a professor, and was given a shock when she remained silent.

Hermione wondered why Ron was starring at her. Did she have something on her face? Or…oh no, was she crying again? But then she took to mind what he'd just said and before she had a chance to scold him, he and Harry had moved to another topic entirely. For the better, probably. She doubted she would have even sounded sincere.

The night before had been murder. She'd woken up twice screaming, both times silently reveling in her private room. What she'd have done without it was unimaginable.

The quickly finished eating, grabbed their books and bags, and made their way down to the dungeons, Ron with a grimace on his face at the horrors to come. Taking her normal seat beside Neville, with Harry on her other side and Ron beside him, the feeling of dread trickled into her. She loved potions and she was good at it, but Professor Snape must hate the Trio dearly, for they always received the brunt of his sarcasm. Though the dread was an unpleasant feeling, it was also calming—it was familiar and anything familiar, be it good or bad, was soothing to Hermione.

Snape's silky smooth voice was also familiar, and she found herself hanging raptly on his words. "Settle down…Now, this is seventh year potions. To have been admitted, you must have at least _some_ knowledge of the potions required to pass. Though many of you are not up to my standards," he eyed Harry and Ron dangerously, "the headmaster has intervened, and alas, I am stuck teaching the dunderheads who passed by a hair. Consider yourselves warned that this year is not going to be a walk in the park. I will push you to your limits and beyond them. Most of you will be forced to drop the class. Those of you who don't will do grandly on your N.E.W.T's. Am I clear?"

Everyone nodded, no one dared to speak. Snape sneered. "We will begin work at once. Directions are on the board," he flicked his wand and words were scrawled across the blackboard. "Commence."

Fifteen minutes into class and Hermione's was the only potion that actually turned the sought after periwinkle. Ron's was the color of his hair (and presently his face), Harry's was nearly black, and Neville's was the worst of all. There wasn't a color to describe it, the closest being puce. He was positively shaking with fear at what Snape would say. Oh, the horror.

Hermione had to help. Neville didn't fear any teacher more than he feared Snape. Though she was always told off for helping Neville, she couldn't really leave him in a time of need.

She whispered in his ear what he needed to do to turn his potion anywhere near periwinkle. She thought they were safe when his potion turned a clear, cerulean blue, until—"Miss Granger," Snape sneered from behind them. Hermione nearly jumped. "I have asked you, repeatedly, I believe, to keep your mouth to yourself. Mr. Longbottom, poor thing, how will he ever learn if not the hard way?"

He was bating her and they both knew it. But, when she normally might have replied or defended both her and Neville, she remained quite. A look of uncaring washed out her face. Why should she care? He'd take a few points off, detention perhaps, but what did that matter? It didn't, not anymore.

The look bothered Snape perhaps more then the scars had the previous night. As long as she still had feeling in her, the scars could have been some bizarre accident. But this look…he'd seen this look before. Most commonly he'd seen it on the prisoners that the Dark Lord had personally tortured, a look that said that nothing could be worse than what they had already endured. Oh, no, he didn't like that look at all. But he followed through.

"Five points from Gryffindor and a detention, Miss Granger. You, too, must learn the hard way. My office, seven o'clock." He smirked and was gone.

Hermione tried to be indignant. She tried to be angry at such injustice. She tried to care _at all_. And she was ashamed when she didn't. She didn't care. Why was she acting this way? More women than her had been in situations probably worse than hers. She didn't have a right to wallow in self pity.

And she could practically read what Harry's thoughts would be if she ever told him what she was thinking of herself. First he'd scold her, telling her this was nothing like self pity, that this was probably still shock. Then he'd tell her that some self pity might actually be _good_ for her. Then he'd tell Ron, and then where would they be? It would undoubtedly spiral down hill from there.

Five measly points and a worthless detention could not hurt her any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Hermione barely raised her hand all day and in History of Magic, rather than completing her usual scroll of notes, she sat staring straight through Professor Binns, seemingly not taking in a word of his lecture on Grindewald. "Great," Ron had muttered to Harry, "now where will we get the notes?"

As they were walking to Herbology, Hermione had asked, "When do we have lunch?"

Ron merely stared at her while Harry said hesitantly, "Er…well, we actually just came from it…"

"Oh…" was his only reply.

To give credit where credit was due, Harry thought something might have been bothering Hermione ever since she hadn't bickered with Ron about his homework at King's Cross station. But she'd seemed relatively normal, relatively happy on the train. She'd talked and laughed with them, hadn't she? Yes, he was almost certain she had. But she'd made a severe decline as the first day started. Her head was, for the first time, in the clouds. And now he was certain something had happened…and for her to have kept it from him, it had to be something awful.

Harry had been pondering the best way to approach the subject for nearly an hour. Now, as he opened his mouth to speak, she packed away her homework supplies and stood.

"What? Where are you going?"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, me? I'm out to have a dandy old detention with Snape. I expect there'll be tea and cookies too. Want to join?"

Harry laughed, perhaps more heartily than the joke called for. It was just so nice to hear her talking, actually talking, and caring about…well, _something_. Even if it was sarcastic.

Hermione smiled at him questioningly. He'd have to say something… "Sorry, I guess it's just…well, is something bothering you?" he questioned, wording carefully.

Hermione took in a sharp breath. But she played it off. "No, why would you ask?"

Harry shrugged. "You just seem…I don't know, distant. I mean, you didn't even tell Ron off for putting chess before his homework!"

Hermione giggled insincerely. "I'm sorry; I guess the idea of our N.E.W.T's is finally getting to me. I'll try to pay more attention." And she would, she promised herself. She couldn't have questions being asked. It would just require some more work…

Harry beamed and Hermione as she climbed through the portrait's opening, mentally berating herself. She couldn't let herself slip anymore. She thought she'd been handling everything just fine…albeit, Harry _was_ always the more perceptive one. She'd have to be even more cautious with him; always on her guard.

Before she knew it, she stood before the heavy wooden door of Professor Snape's dungeon-dwelling office. A terse "Enter" was called from within the room as soon as her hand knocked the door.

Snape sat behind a cluttered desk grading papers. "Miss Granger," he greeted her.

"Hello, Professor. Am I to scour the cauldrons tonight, then?" she asked, already heading towards them.

"Not tonight, Miss Granger."

She stopped. That's all she'd ever had to do in his detentions, though she'd had few. What else _was_ there to do in a potions classroom?

He paused as well and, for the first time all evening, he looked her in the eye inquisitively. He deeply wanted to ask her about the marks on her stomach. That's actually why he assigned her detention in the first place. Sure, she was assisting Longbottom, but Snape had long given up hope on the boy. He figured if he got her one on one, it'd be easier to ask, easier to help her, perhaps. But part of him didn't want to explain how he found out about the scars. The other part was more frightened of what the truth could be…

Hermione nearly flinched under his quizzical glare. She didn't though. She stared straight back, wondering if he was one of those amazing folk who can read people's expressions and immediately know they're hiding something. At first, the thought terrified her. But she realized she only felt as such because she knew it _should_ terrify her. She found herself wondering if she secretly wanted someone to find out her secret…at least the one involving Viktor. She already had a secret to cope with…could she handle another one for much longer?

He looked away and her thoughts were halted. "I actually need your help. Keeping up the stocks in the Hospital Wing, you see," he explained softly.

She looked at him incredulously. "_That_ was why you gave me detention? You needed my help? What were the points taken away for, then?"

He smirked. "Well, Miss Granger, you _were_ verbally assisting Mr. Longbottom."

Hermione sighed. "So what are we brewing?"

Snape swept out from behind his desk and strode over to a single table with a brand-new copper cauldron atop it. "Madame Pomfrey's infamous Bellyache Remedy. It's always in short supply. I swear, you'd think we were feeding them food poisoning."

As he marched to his supply closet, Hermione marveled at how…at how…_normal_ Professor Snape could be. Alone, he wasn't nearly as stiff as he was in the front of a crowded classroom. This was new to her.

He emerged, flagged down with flasks upon flasks of various colored liquids. Hermione rushed forth to help before every last thing clambered to the stone floor. He muttered an ill-used "Thank you" and set off towards the table. 'Thank you'…coming from him, this was also new.

An hour or two passed without either of their recognition. While for Hermione her distraction was working diligently, for Snape, his whole body and mind was raging with an internal conflict.

Should he broach on the subject of the scars? Should he forget them entirely? (That one in particular was ruled out instantly. He knew too well he would never forget.) It seemed to him he was asking himself the same questions again and again. But just as he finally opened his mouth to ask, she yawned. He reached to his pocket and pulled out a golden watch on a chain. It read nine thirty.

"Miss Granger, you are free to go," he said a bit reluctantly. His courage would flee over night and he'd have to rebuild it if they were ever again alone together.

She nodded and gathered her things. "Miss Granger." She paused and her tired brown eyes found his sharp black ones. "If you would…like to assist me further, I could really use the help," he muttered nonchalantly, as if her answer didn't matter. While it did. Very much so. He wondered why he wanted these one-on-one times with her. He then realized he had a strong urge to protect her. She was the brightest witch at Hogwarts, after all.

She smiled the affirmative, a genuine smile he thought, and he nearly smiled back. It was good to see interest in her eyes, such a change from the dead look he'd seen earlier in the day. Maybe the scars weren't exactly dire. Perhaps he was reading too much into things…could he?

While for the rest of the world the months passed by excruciatingly slowly, for Hermione they all melted together and, before she knew it, it was December. She knew the reason for this as well. She was the only student not wishing the time away, not trying to speed up the months in anticipation for the Carmen Riviera Christmas concert. She was kept rather busy with her school work, helping Snape with the medicine stock, and hanging with Harry and Ron every night. She proudly bragged to herself that neither Harry nor Ron had noticed anything amiss in her behavior. Though she had calmed down with her school-addicted attitude, she made up for it by actually partaking in some of their recreational activities rather than sitting by reading a book. She was a whole load better at Quidditch than either of them remembered.

As for week-day evenings with Professor Snape, they passed by better than what could have been expected and beyond. Not many would actually call Severus Snape _nice;_they had not seen this side of him. What no one could deny was that he was a gentleman, and all gentlemen could be pleasant when the time came. Apparently, Snape decided to let some pleasantries shine through. He'd gotten in the habit of setting out tea for her and himself before they began their work. On Fridays he had these cinnamon cookies which Hermione rarely ate because they tasted as though they were made with salt. But on occasion she would eat one because it was obvious Snape made them himself, (the houselves knew how to cook).

It would seem that Hermione had her life finally in order. As has been said before, she has become an extraordinary actress. Her mind was a mess in reality. She was constantly repeating things she'd forgotten she'd already said, twice she'd called Ron by Ginny and she rarely ever raised her hand in class anymore. But she wasn't worried about the teachers just yet. If they ever asked, she'd participate more. But for now she had enough to worry about.

Currently, all her concentration was going to her balance, trying desperately to keep her footing on the rain-drenched grass. Ron and Harry were muttering about something she didn't really care to listen to. It was only when her name was called a fourth time when she realized they'd been talking to _her._

"Sorry. A little busy trying not to fall on my face. What'd you ask?" she said a tad impatiently.

"The concert is Saturday. Are you coming with us?" Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione gaped at him. Today was Friday. Could the concert really be tomorrow? Oh, how time had slipped away from her. She smiled sadly. "Sorry, Ron, I don't think I can. Arithmancy is completely barmy with homework; I doubt I'll finish it if I work straight through the entire weekend."

The boys were disappointed but they accepted it. Each was too excited to let anything bother them overly so. Hermione smiled. Just like children at Christmas.

Saturday was sprung upon them and the whole common room was a buzz with activity. Hermione sat on an overstuffed armchair next to the fire, surrounded by countless volumes and numerous blank scrolls. Her attempt at homework was futile. The interruptions were constant and repetitive.

"But perhaps black is the wrong color, you know? Maybe she'll think I'm one of those 'I hate the world' types. Yes, black is definitely wrong. How do you feel about blue?" Ron stood in front of a freshly conjured mirror, tugging at his clothes, a button down black shirt with a white pocket and black slacks.

Hermione responded, though she didn't know why—so far all her suggestions were all but ignored. "Ron, it really won't matter that much. If you even do get to meet her, she won't really be worried by your clothes, will she? I'd be more worried about what you'll say to be honest."

Ron gasped. "You're right! I get tongue-tied around the girls in _school_. If I meet Carmen Riviera…dear Merlin." And he was off, to once again change his clothes and, Hermione was certain, to rehearse some sort of dialogue.

Harry was a smite more relaxed. And by a smite, I really mean a load more. Something, most likely the fame he'd been given since the age of 11, made him the wiser on how to treat celebrities. Hermione wasn't worried about him at all.

As six o'clock finally rolled around, students were headed out of the common room in mobs of excitement. Harry and Ron gave one last attempt to bring Hermione along and followed the crowd when she refused. As soon as she was certain every last fan was out of the common room and most likely gathered in the Great Hall, Hermione jumped up and ran from the room.

Oh, how he hated school entertainment of any sort. Snape had spent the last have hour getting ready for what was sure to be a full blown migraine. He'd never heard any of Miss Riviera's music, other than the operatic pieces, which he was amazed by. The young girl had tremendous talent. But wasn't the music that the students listened to usually always rather promiscuous? He could only pray that it wouldn't be _that _kind of music he was being forced to endure.

His ensemble didn't stray to far from his normal attire. He wore black boots, black jeans, and a white shirt with buttons up the front. In fact, the only thing missing was his voluminous cloak.

At six o'clock, he too made his own way down towards the Great Hall. Walking through the doors was like walking into a mash pit. Students were already huddled near the stage waiting for the girl. Other students meandered around the refreshment table, Potter and Weasley included. Snape noticed how Miss Granger wasn't with them. He also noticed how the would-be trio looked rather lost, though overly excited, without her. The boys were talking to two fellow Gryffindors whose names did not concern Snape.

The lights dimmed and the volume excelled. Shouts of excited fans rebounded off the walls and Snape almost put his hands over his ears to drown them out. Slowly, carefully maneuvering between mobs of people, he found a seat by the wall; far enough away from the screaming banshees but close enough to still see the performance.

With firework erupting overhead, she stepped out and Snape's first thought was how much more attractive one was in person (which is really saying something—she was gorgeous before!). She was an average 5'7" with a thin, athletic, perpetually tanned body. She had these big brown eyes that simply sparkled, framed by incredibly long black eye lashes. She had a small, heart-shaped mouth that was now spread into a wide smile, showing off teeth white as snow. Her black hair glistened and fell silkily to her waist.

"Hello everrryone! I hope we have fun tonight," she said in a delightful Spanish accent. The crowd went wild.


	5. Chapter 5

It was miraculous. Snape couldn't explain it, but he believed he actually _enjoyed_ Miss Riviera's singing. One in particular song, sung in Spanish tongue, he liked very much. It was a duet with one of her male backup singers. On top of all her other attributes, Carmen Riviera could also dance—go figure. What couldn't the girl do?

After her twelve or thirteenth song, Miss Riviera clinched her concert to a close.

"Thanks everrryone! You've trrruly been a grrreat audience. I'll be signing autogrrraphs in the foyerrr."

As she said this, a mad rush formed a line heading to foyer. Ye Gods, they move fast, Severus thought.

Seeing that the line was absurdly too long to wait in, Severus quickly and quietly retired to his quarters.

Harry doubted very much whether he'd ever seen anyone nearly as excited as Ron Weasley was at the moment. He was bouncing on his heels, muttering to himself, tugging at his clothes and receiving odd looks from passersby all at the same time.

Fortunately for them, they'd never been able to get too close to the stage due to the crowds of people—they'd remained by the entrance, which allowed them to be second in line, which _was_ saying something—the line stretched back to the stage and doubled around.

As they quickly shuffled there way to the front of the line, Ron was positively shaking with excitement—or was it nerves?

"Hello…" said the star before them, dragging out the word so they could supply their names. All that could be heard was nervous garble spewing from Ron's mouth.

"I'm Harry," Harry said, gratefully taking over," and this is my normally coherent friend Ron. He's a big fan. We both are."

Carmen Riviera flashed him a smile so stunning that it almost hurt to look at. "Well, thank you, Harrrrry. And you too, Rrrron." He made an odd squeaking noise.

Carmen gracefully slid her pen across two photographs, dazzling of course but the real person so much more so. She handed the autographs over and, after the boys (well, Harry—Ron was still speaking gibberish) had thanked her, she quickly added, "Oh, Rrrron, I love that shirrrt, by the way." Ron's mouth gaped open as he marveled at her—Harry had to literally take an arm and pull Ron to Gryffindor Tower.

They jumped through the portrait hole, fully expecting to recite the entire concert to Hermione, only to find her books strewn across an arm chair, the common room completely empty. They figured she'd gone to the washroom or the like, so they plopped down on the overstuffed and, having enough energy to pull an all-nighter, they waited.

And they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Harry was jerked to consciousness by a sharp pull on his arm. He looked angrily up, dead-bent on verbally lashing out on the dim-wit that woke him, until Hermione's face came into vision. Harry then remembered why he was still in the common room and who they'd fallen asleep waiting for.

Before he spoke, more out of instinct than desire of knowledge, Harry glanced at his wrist watch and gasped. Could it be? Midnight? He knew for a fact they'd left the concert at 8. What had Hermione been _doing_ for over for hours?

"Where've you been?" Harry demanded, sounding more scolding then he intended. His tone softened. "We've been waiting for four hours. We wanted to tell you about the concert…"

Hermione blanched. She'd expected them to go to sleep. She improvised. "Oh, I stopped by the concert, to see how it was going. It was over by the time I got there, but I, err….I got a picture. She didn't have the time to sign it though," she said, pulling out the same photograph Harry had gotten, minus the signature.

Harry, unbeknownst to him, had doubts. He couldn't explain it—her story was more than possible, it was _likely_. But, then, why did he feel he was missing something? Shrugging it off (he set his mind to figuring it out in the morning) he woke Ron so he could tell Hermione about the concert if he wished. Frankly, Harry was too tired to move.

Ron looked grouchy at first but as soon as he set eyes on Hermione, he launched into detailed descriptions. Hermione giggled at Ron's enthusiasm as he told her the singer had complimented his shirt.

Finally, Harry and Ron trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, Ron still chattering away, Harry only grinning at the appropriate times. He had more important dilemmas at hand. Why didn't he believe Hermione?

Snape had figured it out. He knew how to ask Hermione about the scars—no, ask was the wrong word. He knew how to _find out_ about the scars when she came to help him with the potions. It came to him in a wardrobe…

Literally. A Bogart! Hermione _had_ to be afraid of what originally gave her the scars, if not the scars themselves, and what better way to find out what frightened her than a Bogart! When he saw what she was afraid of, be it the scars or the cause, if would give him liberty to ask. Needless to say, Snape was feeling rather smug at the moment. And relieved as well—he would finally find out what caused those damned scars. A slight knocking at his door brought him out of his reverie and he rushed to open it.

Snape set down two steaming tea cups on the coffee table. Hermione muttered a thank you and took the steaming cup into her hands. She looked pale and utterly exhausted, Snape noticed, which was odd. Hadn't he noted her absence at the concert last night? She should have been able to go to sleep early, or at least sleep enough to not be bushed the next day.

After a few moments of pleasant conversation, Hermione asked, "So what potion are we brewing today?"

Snape gave her is carefully calculated answer. "Well, actually, Miss Granger, the potion is rather simple, simple enough for me alone to brew within a few minutes. But I do have something for you to do."

As if on cue, the wardrobe behind them rattled ominously. Hermione picked up on that and her eyes nearly glazed over. "A Bogart?" she whispered.

Snape could tell that she wanted to keep whatever frightened her under wraps. He pushed harder. "Yes, a Bogart. Been bothering me for weeks now, I just haven't gotten around to dispelling it. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Hermione sighed. "No, I s'pose not." He knew she was only saying this to keeps suspicions low. Now he was rather intrigued.

"Wonderful. Well, whenever you're ready then. I'll just gather my supplies and set to work."

He sauntered into the next room, which was where they usually brewed the potions. He paused at the door, well hidden but close enough to hear and eve peek around the corner once the Bogart was let out and her attention was on it.

He heard the hinges squeak as she opened the door. He emitted a gasp as he heard and immediately recognized a voice filling the room, a voice that had no business there.

"Ah, Her-my-own-ninny. I will give you von last chance. If you do not beg…vell, you know vat happens."

Viktor Krum.

Snape peered around the corner.

Hermione had backed against the wall with her wand raised. Tears splashed down her face as she vaguely muttered, "Ridiculous."

"Now, now, Her-my-own-ninny, beg me or," his eyes flashed dangerously, "I'll ravish you."

Hermione gave a strangled sob. It literally hurt Snape to see her like this. He almost intervened until… "I don't beg, Viktor. Especially not to you."

Viktor gave a growl of rage and drew a dagger out of his coat. He ran at Hermione but she dodged him. "You know vat happens if you disobey, Her-my-own-ninny. Vas my name, permanently engraved on your tummy, not enough punishment? Perhaps you vant more? I can oblige," he screeched, throwing himself at her again.

Snape was frozen in place.

"Do you vant the whole vorld to know your secret? It is in my pover to reveal it, as you so trustingly told it to me. Do you vant me to tell them about C—"

"STOP!" Hermione said loudly, and he broke off.

"Not until you stay still, Her-my-own-ninny."

And to Snape's shock and Hermione's sorrow, she backed against the wall and froze, her eyes closed. It was obvious she would not dodge him again. She resigned. Why?

Snape began to feel his legs again and he stepped up to Krum, who was nearly pouncing on Hermione's still form, and yelled, "Ridiculous!"

The boy turned to a spinning, confused orb and was launched back into the wardrobe. It shuddered and then fell still.

Hermione opened her eyes to confirm that he'd been sent back to the wardrobe. Her relief was squashed by the concerned look on Snape's face. There would be questions.

Suddenly she didn't have enough air. She had to tell him. Otherwise, he would use Legimens. She gulped in air as she slid down the wall. The occasional tear now turned into sobs and she buried her face into her arms, trying to calm tears. She had to—she had no choice. She would have to tell him.

The sight of her crying was doing awful things to him. He swooped down and ever so gently cradled her to his chest as he swiftly carried her to a sofa. She clutched at the front of his shirt as he made to get up and make her some tea. These actions were brutally harking on his resolve—he almost sat and sobbed with her, just from seeing her reactions. He knew it had to be bad. Instead he let her head fall against his chest as she tried to stifle the tears and stroked her hair away from her face.

As her tears quickly faded and then stopped, Severus figured it was safe. "Miss Granger…Hermione. That wasn't just a fear, am I correct? That was, at one point, your reality?" He felt her nod her head daintily. "Hermione, the Bogart had a knife. What was Krum doing to you with a knife?"

At this, Hermione pulled away. Severus feared he upset her until she pulled her shirt up a little ways until her stomach was visible. He saw once again brutal marks slashed across the flat plane of skin but it wasn't just marks as he'd thought. The bastard had written his name…

Anger boiled inside him and the desire to hurt to boy made his fingers itch. He wanted very much to know the proceedings but he was sure that he was unable to speak. She saved him the trouble.

"I was visiting Viktor this summer. For two weeks…it started on the first night. He'd chained me to the pipes running across the ceilings before I even got a handle on his intentions. By then…well, it was too late. He'd whipped out a knife when I struggled and carved a letter each time I 'misbehaved'. Misbehaved quite a lot, I s'pose." Her chin quivered slightly but she kept her composure. "He…raped…me for two weeks straight, every night without fail…like clock work," she whispered, her voice trailing off. It was clear that her mind was thoroughly occupied by horrors unknown to him.

He had to ask. "Hermione, why pray tell, did you not go to the authorities? Why've you kept it a secret?"

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes were concerned, gentle, so much kinder when set free from their usual scowl. She trusted him. But she'd trusted Viktor like this too…could she repeat her secret again, trusting another with the knowledge? _Would_ she?

"Hermione, you can trust me," he whispered, sincerity pouring off of his face.

She sighed and bent forward, resting her elbows on her knees and setting her head in her hands. She looked utterly and helplessly defeated.

"My life is not what you see everyday. Of course, part of it is, and a lot of the time I wish that's all I was…but it's a small part of me.

"I was born in Barcelona, Spain. My parents moved us to London to pursue singing when I was eight years old," she whispered. "I love to sing and I love to perform. But it had gotten to the point where I wasn't able to leave my house without being bombarded with people. I wasn't more than ten years old and it frightened me…"

"And then my Hogwarts letter arrived and it gave me an out. It gave me an opportunity, finally, to be normal, to have a fraction of a normal life. I had a meeting with the Ministry of Magic, asking permission to use magic outside of Hogwarts. At first the whole Wizengamot was against it. But I explained that it would only be one spell and it would be to change my appearance for Hogwarts. They understood—I didn't expect them to, mind you—but they understood that being who I really am would cause a huge disruption among the student body. The permission was granted, which is why I look the way I do…"

To say that he was confused would have been rather an understatement. He stared at her as her eyes pleaded with him to understand. He tried to comprehend. '_Which is why I look the way I do…_' How ELSE would she have looked? She'd never looked different to him. And Barcelona? Since when? She had an English accent, for Merlin's sake, and not a broken one—a perfect, genuine English accent. He didn't understand at all.

She sighed as his face remained puzzled. Silently she drew her wand and moved to stand in front of the coffee table, facing him. After a moment of indecision, she gracefully swirled her wand above her head and was encased in a curtain of silver glitter. As the glitter faded, Snape's breath caught. Hermione Granger was gone, whisked away by the silver plume. In her wake was a breathtaking girl around 5'7", an athletic body, long silky midnight black hair, and big sparkling chocolate eyes with eye lashes that brushed her cheek when she blinked.

"My birth name is Carmen Riviera."


	6. Chapter 6

Snape tried very unsuccessfully to keep his breathing regular. Hermione—or Carmen—ran to his small, rarely used kitchen and filled a glass with ice water which she then forced him to drink. It did clear his head a bit, for all his thoughts, his emotions; these new revelations had crowded together and threatened to overwhelm him.

He felt her sit down delicately next to him and reached to grasp her hand. The gesture was firm and yet gentle and, to her, it seemed like he was clinging to reality, that he was making sure she was really there. His eyes roved her face for a hint of mockery, a tightening of the eyes, a twitch of the mouth—but her glowing olive skin oozed sincerity, her eyes imploring him to accept her.

He didn't trust himself to speak, but he needed to know. "How? I mean…your English accent is real. I mean it sounds real…"

She smiled faintly. "Hermione Granger's mind _is_ my real mind. That was not a fabrication—perhaps one of the only things…" She shook her head to clear it. "When I set my mind to it, I can learn anything because I've been showed that my mind is the only thing I have a real hold over. Carmen Riviera's life is controlled by fans—when I'm her, I can't go out in public if I want to be left alone, I can't hang out with friends like normal teenagers do. Hermione Granger's life is controlled by the constant fear of revelation. That life, the life that up until the summer I'd loved, the life with Harry and Ron and Hogwarts—that life could be shattered in a matter of seconds with a few blindly uttered words. So in reality, my mind, my knowledge, facts that can never be changed, information that is set in stone is what I rely on. It's the only thing in either life that I have control over. With that way of thinking, I mastered the English language and accent in a matter of months."

Snape pondered this. Remarkable. Though he oddly found it rather easy to believe. She'd always been one of the brightest students to ever enter Hogwarts.

"How many people know?" he wondered aloud.

"Only you…and him," she whispered, once again burying her face within her hands.

Snape rubbed her back gently, trying his best to soothe her. He wasn't sure what he expected, but this? This was unjust to the point of being immoral and beyond.

"Has he…has he had any _contact _with you since the trip?" Snape asked, anger coloring his tone. It was taking more and more self restraint to keep from finding and trashing the useless boy to pieces.

"He sends me letters. Disgusting things…they come pretty regularly."

"You know this won't stop…you know _he_ won't stop until you tell Hogwarts who you are? Until you reveal your secret? Otherwise—"

"I know," she muttered. "I know…if I see him again, I'll have to. But for now, while it's only letters…I can handle letters."

He nodded solemnly. "Only letters…"

Author's Note: Sorry guys, really short. This ones just trying to tie up the last chapter. Trust me, next chapter will be better.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Guys, this one is a little more...sexual. It has a couple disturbing concepts, so if you are easily upset I suggest you skip this chapter..

December plowed into January before anyone was ready for it—especially seventh year students. Now that their last year at Hogwarts had arrived, time seemed to have a mind of its own, racing and racing and going all together too fast for anyone's comfort.

It was a Tuesday evening and Hermione was packing and clearing away her things after a busy night helping Snape satisfy potion demands. She was rather rushing, for it was fast getting close to curfew, so it was no wonder when a scroll of parchment skidded across the floor unbeknownst to her. Snape retrieved it and actually extended his arm to offer it back to her when he noticed the writing was rather smudged, sort of…damp…

Tear drops.

She'd cried over this sheet of parchment.

He could not have stopped his eyes from reading the letter if it meant his life, but he very much feared its contents.

"_My_ _dear Hermione,_

_Do you think of your summer trip often? I know that I do. I'm sure neither of us will ever forget…_

_My favorite memory was, perhaps, the night before I sent you on your way. I remember it well. You were so weak from starvation that restraints were unnecessary. All that was between you and I was the jagged silver dagger that…did my bidding, if you will. Not even clothing was worn—who wanted all that rough fabric in the way? Certainly not I, and not you either once the dagger had…persuaded you. You found that the silver dagger was rather skilled at manipulation, I'm sure. Do you remember? Shall I remind you? _

_I traced the dagger down the length of your slender neck, along the curved paths of each of your collar bones and continued south onto those perfect, supple breasts. I drew down the plane of your flat, defined stomach and left a mark, didn't I? Yes, I carved my last letter that night. Oh, the shrieks are still ringing in my ears! _

_The silver dagger found your womanhood and was…overjoyed. Of course, I am a gentleman so I won't go into detail. But the screams—oh, the screams! And the blood, as well. No, I am certain neither of us will ever forget…_

_Until we meet again, dear heart._

_All my love,_

_Viktor"_

Snape was vaguely aware of a ferocious growl that grew and grew as he finished the letter, finished reading about the "love" Viktor had for Hermione. He realized that the growl was coming from him.

"Professor?" Hermione asked timidly.

His eyes flew to her frightened face and the fury in them made Hermione flinched. What the hell had she done? It was then that she saw he was gripping the letter, which was quickly shredding under his lethal grasp.

His expression softened when he saw her flinch. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…you dropped this," he spat the last part.

Both of them knew where the anger was directed.

Hermione's eyes looked glassy but her jaw was set firmly. "I hadn't gotten around to burning that one…" she whispered.

"Allow me," he growled and threw it in the fireplace with enough enthusiasm to dent the stone.

Hermione collapsed into an armchair and Snape swooped down to kneel beside it. "That's not even the worst of it," she whispered, her eyes closed against his reaction. "Once he described it in so much detail you'd think he had it on film. I threw up just reading it…"

"Is your big secret really worth this? This boy, this stupid, insolent jackass is will not stop until you actually tell the world—"

"I know," Hermione gasped. It was becoming difficult to breathe. "I know…but like I said before, they're just letters. If I ever see him again, I'll tell everyone." Her eyes widened at the thought. "But until then, I can handle it."

Snape opened his mouth to argue, and then steeled himself. They were only letters, right?

The pain was coming. The pain _shouldn't_ be coming, Hermione berated herself, not anymore. She thought she'd long gotten past that pain and yet here it was, about to course through her veins, strong enough to blur her sight. The vision impairment was already starting…

All she could hear was Harry and Ron jabbering on the way to…which class were they going to? Potions was it? Yes, that sounded right. Was she prepared to miss the class do to emotional stress, though? Well she could always explain later…he'd understand. She'd worked too hard to remain upbeat around Harry and Ron to have all her efforts made meaningless by her suddenly bursting into tears in front of them; she had to find an empty classroom. She had to get away…

Bingo. An average wooden door stood ajar to Hermione's immediate left and she was able to slip inside without either Harry or Ron noticing. At least one thing went her way today.

Tears were rolling gently down her face before she had the door locked properly. She couldn't explain why the pain hit her now when it hadn't hit her in weeks. No, that wasn't true. She _did_ know why.

A letter had arrived by owl that morning. This obviously was not the first letter she'd received. But it was undoubtedly the worst. He'd described everything. How the sound of her screams aroused him, how limber her breasts were, how sensual her womanhood had been…

He'd enclosed pictures, photos so close up that it looked like he'd taken them right next to her. They were disgusting and Hermione couldn't see anyone lusting after them, if that was his angle. She looked either hateful or frightened in every last one. But simply the fact that he'd had the nerve to enclose pictures of such a malicious act turned her stomach over. One thing she was thankful for, though, was that it had been the _last_ letter Snape had found. This one would have given him a heart attack.

Hermione shook her head to clear it. She'd been through worse, she reminded herself. The pictures were proof. All she had to do was make it through Potions…

"Ah, Her-my-own-ninny. So glad you could come!" said a voice from deep within the shadows of the dim classroom.

The possession of the voice was clear. No one else pronounced her name as such. She whirled around to face the body of the boy who'd haunted her thoughts for months.

Viktor laughed as her face glazed over with hatred and horror. Before she could manage to open the door behind her, the wooden entry in question sprouted chains which immediately clad themselves to Hermione's wrists at the command of Viktor's wand. He put a silent charm on the classroom and got down to business.

He whipped out a knife and pushed the tip into Hermione's stomach, just lightly enough as to not break the skin. "You know the rules," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. He traced his tongue along her cheek. "No struggling…but scream all you like."

With a swipe of his wand, every article of clothing she wore was stripped, helplessly tearing to the floor—she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Viktor led his tongue down the length of her neck and continued south. Hermione put all her focus into not kicking him in the face. The consequences would not be worth it, that much she could tell you.

His fingers traced over the scars and went even further. Hermione winced but otherwise kept lifelessly still. What was the point? She was chained, cuffed to the walls—and any struggling would call for another slice with that wretched tainted dagger.

This train of thought was completely forgotten not a moment later. Her scream tore through the room as he began to use his teeth on her breasts…

Snape nervously glided through the aisles, pretending to glance over student's work, far too distracted to comprehend what he was looking at.

_This is ridiculous,_ Snape rebuked himself. _Anything could be keeping her… perhaps she fell asleep between classes. It isn't necessarily anything dangerous! _

What worried Snape, however, was that she skipped class for nothing short of dangerous, occasionally life-threatening occurrences.

Yes, he was worried about Hermione. However irrational, however illogical it seemed to him, her missing class made his stomach sink. He'd barely been able to concentrate on directions when she hadn't trotted in behind Potter and Weasley and nearly went out to look for her himself. But, as he'd said, that would be foolish. It could be anything.

"Someone will come looking for me," she spat in his face as he jammed himself into her again.

"Oh shut it, my little whore. Ve are done here. And remember," he whispered maliciously, tracing the dagger along her cheek, "not a word."

"Get off me."

He yanked himself away from her. Hermione cringed as far away from him as the restraints would allow. He fixed his clothes, his hair, and extracted all the charms from the room with a flick of his wand. The silence charm was broken and the chains snaked back into the walls. Hermione dove for her clothes in a vain attempt to save some of her dignity. He scoffed as she fumbled with buttons.

"Not a word," he muttered, and was gone.

Hermione's mind was numb. She could think of no answers to the persistent questions. How? How did he get in? How did he know where she would be? Why did he come again?

Hermione felt herself walking through the halls; she vaguely remembered receiving odd stares. She really had no sense of where she was going, no sense of control over her active limbs. She tried to remember what class she'd been going to. Potions, she believed. It looked like she was already heading that way.

She kept coming back to one question, one vow she made for if she ever saw him again. Would she—_could_ she…tell the world?

He would call Potter and Weasley to stay after class. They would know where she'd gone. A glance towards them proved him wrong, however. They glanced anxiously at the door every now and again, almost expecting something.

Snape's nerves were at their end when the wooden dungeon door squeaked open. Snape's body flooded in relief and he whipped around to make a scathing remark about her tardiness (more for show than for actual scolding). His relief spoiled as she came into view.

Her hair was tousled and her simple cotton tee-shirt was on backwards. Her robes had been discarded and she held her wand tightly by her side. She wore no shoes, either, her feet bare against the stone. But it was her eyes that worried him. They were bright with fresh tears and a fear shown in her eyes more clearly than he'd seen in anyone in a long time. Anger mingled with the fear and the look pulled at his heart strings.

He knew what happened.

He knew in a heartbeat.

She spoke it aloud anyway. "He came back…" Her wand clattered as her reserve finally gave away and she tumbled to the icy stone floor.


	8. Chapter 8

Where was she? Hermione couldn't tell—her brain was foggy. Her arms and legs felt like lead. It was as though she were swimming through a pool of thick jelly; she couldn't seem to move.

Did she hear a voice? No—there were voices, more than one. One was a deep, silky baritone that somewhat calmed her. Two others were so familiar…

Bits of conversation flowed into Hermione's ears.

"It's not your business to tell us what to do about our friend, Snape."

"That's Professor Snape to you, you insolent—"

"Severus…"

"Well with all due respect, Headmaster—"

"Respect be damned, don't go changing the subject! We will ask her what we please when she wakes! Look at you, thinking you know best when you've been nothing but cruel to her—"

"I know a damn lot better than you would, Weasley."

"Yeah, says you!"

"Mr. Potter—"

"Professor McGonagall, are you _hearing_ him? He just told us not to ask Hermione _why_ she was late for class and why she, oh, I dunno, _fainted_ upon arrival!"

"I'm just thinking of her, Potter—"

"Oh, you think of others now? I know you never did before—"

Hermione couldn't take this. All this bickering was scrambling her senses further. "Stop," she whispered softly and her request was answered immediately.

Whatever it was that Hermione was lying upon abruptly sank a ways down as bodies dropped beside her. She lifted one hand to her pounding head and cautiously opened her eyes. She found that she was curled into a tiny ball in the center of a large, soft bed, enveloped in silk sapphire sheets. She started slightly at the sight of five concerned faces analyzing her own. They were all clustered in Snape's private rooms.

Harry and Ron had each flopped down on either side of her, flanking her like personal body guards. Snape struggled from the foot of the bed to keep his expression emotionless, purely because of her friends' presences, but was, for the first time in Hermione's memory, having a hard time with it. Concern was plastered on his face, his eyes yearning and brimming with scarcely refrained questions—questions that were held back solely for her comfort, much to her relief.

McGonagall went to stand beside her, motherly instincts kicking in—she felt Hermione's forehead to check her temperature. "A bit warm. How do you feel?"

Hermione shrugged a bit. "Alright."

McGonagall peered carefully into her face. "Miss Granger, what happened? Professor Snape—" she sent a vicious glare his way "has refused to divulge. Insists you should be the one to enlighten us."

Hermione sent a small 'thank you' smile towards Snape, too which he smiled back. He bent by her side, opposite McGonagall and said, "No, I didn't tell them, Miss Granger. That's strictly your secret to tell and I'll not be the one to spill it. However, if you fail to act upon the second incident, I'll be forced to reveal at least that much. It's either that or kill the boy myself—I am, quite frankly, leaning toward the latter, but it's your call."

She stared straight into his deep black eyes for a full minute, debating what to do. They'd agreed she'd tell her secret if she ever saw him again. Now he was giving her another choice. He wouldn't tell them about Carmen…he'd only tell them about the rape. But then, of course, there'd be trillions of questions spewed her way. What to do? His concern, along with everyone else's, was palpable, wafting her way, threatening to suffocate her.

"I'll tell. I'll tell them what I told you," she whispered and was responded with a morose nod.

The clatter and scrapings of utensils against platters chaffed Hermione's nerves. The Great Hall was as noisy and filled with commotion as ever it had been. In some ways it felt like an ordinary feast at Hogwarts. Except for the fact that in a few moments, her life would never be the same.

She felt Harry and Ron's furtive glances as she pushed food around in her plate. She hadn't told them yet—she didn't feel like repeating it over and over. But their curiosity radiated from them and washed over her like a tidal wave.

No one around her noticed the trio's sudden change—not even Ginny whom they spoke to regularly, or Neville who was seated beside them. Their simple, carefree demeanors brought about a side of Hermione that few had ever seen: a strong jealousy, a yearning for a life such as theirs. She wondered vaguely if this was how Harry felt all the time, wishing for something much simpler than he had—if so, she pitied him greatly.

And then the din throughout the hall slowly dimmed to a simmer, eventually fading out all the way. Dumbledore stood before them all, looking, it seemed to Hermione, rather grave indeed. He still did not know the full details but he knew by Snape's change of heart toward Hermione called for something major. He just hoped it was something they could all deal with.

Before Dumbledore spoke, Hermione inclined her head towards her head and whispered, "After I'm done here, come to Dumbledore's office. I've been told the password is licorice snaps."

"Attention," Dumbledore called unnecessarily, fore all eyes were plaintively upon him. "I have no interlude to give you, fore I too am in the dark. So without further ado, let us welcome Miss Hermione Granger to the floor."

Hermione inhaled deeply and gave a small smile to Harry and Ron who attempted to smile back comfortingly, but curiosity was laced through every inch of it. Getting up and starting towards Dumbledore, Hermione walked with an assured step. She was painfully aware of every gaze following her tread, some friendly, most curious, and some heart-wrenchingly hateful stares radiating from the Slytherin table. She quietly approached Dumbledore, who ever so gently laid the tip of his wand on her throat, increasing the volume of her voice. His blue eyes shown with remorse, though she had not yet spun her tale. Closing her fate, damning Hermione Granger to the realms of the forgotten, she turned and faced the people she saw daily.

"Hello, everyone." She spoke with an air of confidence that one only grasps from years of experience. She received a few nods in response but mostly the whole Hall remained statues. "Before I divulge anything, I just want to say that…that I've known a lot of you for seven years. And you either like me for being the Hermione Granger that you know or you really don't. But I really, truly don't want whatever I tell you to change your opinion of me. Though I won't look the same," this statement caused murmurs throughout the Hall, "I will _be_ the same. I want you to remember that."

Hermione took a deep breath again, inhaling slowly, cherishing the last scents of the feast she would smell as Hermione Granger. Regret washed over wave, making her nearly unstable, though she recovered quickly enough. And then, as Snape had seen her do only a month or so before, she gracefully drew her wand over her head—a curtain of shimmering silver cascaded around her. As it faded, the whole Hall gasped in unison. Hermione Granger had vanished before their eyes; in her place stood an absolute goddess, a singer which had graced Hogwarts 4 weeks ago.

"My birth name is Carmen Riviera," she said delicately in the same English accent she'd always used. "My family and I moved to England at the start of my career. I quickly found that I hated the life of the famous. I loved to sing, I loved to perform, of course. But the invasion of privacy is something I'd surely like to live without. My Hogwarts' letter gave me an out that I took immediately. I got permission from the Ministry early on, before my first day, to use one spell to change my appearance, which was granted," she spoke, now, mostly to the staff in explanation. Confusion was plastered on each face. "_This _is how I was born, _this _is what I really look like. I'm a singer—but first and foremost…I'm a witch. I do NOT want to suddenly change my name back to Carmen; I am still Hermione Granger. The only difference will be my appearance; I see no point in using a spell all of you can see right through. I'll still have my English accent. I will BE Hermione Granger in every essence of her, except for the look. So you see, I'm really both people—my appearance and my voice, that part of me is Carmen. But my knowledge, my yearn for it and the people whom I've befriended—that is the part of Hermione Granger I wish to keep alive, that is the part of me that's real." Her voice faded as she found Harry and Ron's faces in the baffled crowd. Though they were as perplexed as everyone else, another emotion shown clearly in their eyes, an emotion that tore at Hermione—hurt.

Hermione could not face that any longer. She twirled around, her silky hair cascading around her shoulders and stepped lightly towards Dumbledore. He arose to meet her halfway. His blue eyes sparkled once again, obviously relieved that that was apparently all she had to share. Withdrawing her wand, she de-magnified her voice and brought it to a low whisper. "That is not all, by far. But the student body does not need to know the rest. They know the most important bit, the part that held my story together. Of course, I'll tell you and the staff if they wish—"

"Of course, Miss Granger, of course. Please follow me…" His face now slackened with apprehension at the rest of the tale. Dumbledore led her out of the Great Hall and Hermione became acutely aware of footsteps following behind her. Investigating, she found that every teacher on the staff was following—none that the slightest intention of being ignorant to such important information. Hermione sighed allowed, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. Searching for Harry and Ron in the crowd, their eyes found hers and her message was clear—they were to follow closely behind.

Once everyone was crammed into Dumbledore's rather cluttered office, he motioned for Hermione to take a seat in front of his desk. Just as she was about to speak, the office door flung open again and Harry and Ron weaved their way through the crowd to stand beside her. Hermione smiled. Though she'd hurt them in the most obvious way, they were still there for her. Turning to Dumbledore, she began the tale that only one other individual in the room had heard—Severus Snape.

Hermione found that focusing on Dumbledore's comfortingly blue eyes alone, blocking everyone else out, made revealing her story that much more bearable. "Viktor had written to me over the summer…said he wanted me to visit his manor over in Bulgaria. I went, of course, and…well, to put it simply, he tricked me into telling him that I'm Carmen Riviera. But I trusted him, mind you. I never he'd use it against me. Well, he did. As soon as the words left my mouth, he used them as blackmail. He…raped, and starved, me for two weeks straight."

For the second time that day, gasps sounded all around her. Even Dumbledore, who'd always shown composure in the most trying situations, gaped at her. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. Chancing a glance at Harry and Ron, she found Harry's face contorted with dismay while Ron's face dripped with venom. There was no doubt in her mind that had Viktor been with them at the moment, Ron would have pounced on him like a tiger on its prey.

Dumbledore seemed to retrieve most of his rationale back, fore he coherently asked, "Have you sustained any lasting injuries from it? Perhaps a visit To Madame Pomfrey is in order…"

Hermione hesitated. Glancing at Snape, he gave her a shadow of a nod, sympathy shining clearly through his eyes.

"He…he carved his name into my stomach, a letter for each time I struggled," she whispered.

Phrases like "Oh dear", "Merlin save us", and even "What a jackass," were mumbled throughout the room. Behind her, a ferocious growl came from Ron and from Harry, a pitied cry.

Even Dumbledore looked furious. Immediately he began giving commands. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, you will escort Miss Granger to the Infirmary and wait there with her, please. Severus, Minerva—it will be our job to find the boy. We'll inform the Ministry; this boy will not get off without a mark."

"Actually, Headmaster, the Ministry will not be necessary. I've recently been made aware of the boy's whereabouts," Snape said smoothly.

Hermione, who'd been leading in front of Harry and Ron to the door of the office, whirled around so suddenly that it caused the boys to crash into her. It was her turn to be confused. Snape was looking at her, apparently expecting her reaction. He mouthed '_I'll tell you later_' and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. Hermione allowed the boys to quietly lead her away.

He knew where he was? The Ministry was unnecessary? Hermione had the distinct impression that this was NOT good news…


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione could tell Harry and Ron were angry—it positively radiated off of them. She couldn't tell if they were angry at her or at Viktor though; she was willing to bet it a mixture of both. Neither of them spoke and a furious silence enveloped them—their footsteps echoed throughout the corridors. Hermione sighed. This was not going to be easy.

What was worse, her every step was followed by the watchful eyes of her peers. They'd divided an odd sort of path directly through the crowd, as though parting for a creed. Hermione could feel her cheeks burn—this was exactly what she _didn't_ want. She could tell by first glance that most of them were still fans. Many of them were bouncing on the balls of their feet, eager to chance a glance at her. This only infuriated Harry and Ron further, fore they sped up, forcing Hermione into a slow jog to keep up. Their demeanors alone were enough to shut her up, despite her desire to beg their forgiveness.

Madame Pomfrey, who'd been shut in Dumbledore's office with the rest of them, listening to Hermione's fretful tale, had obviously arrived a moment before they had. Busily, she fussed about, setting a bed for Hermione to stay in, one that was, to her relief, tucked away in the corner of the infirmary.

Harry and Ron followed close behind Hermione as she, instructed by the Medi-witch, plopped herself into the bed. At Madame Pomfrey's request, Hermione reluctantly lifted her shirt just high enough to reveal the nasty red scars. Both Pomfrey and Ron emitted gasps, not expecting what was before their eyes. Harry gave a deep, grisly growl from the base of his throat and gripped the handlebars on the side of her bed for support. His eyes seemed transfixed upon the repugnant marks.

Pomfrey bustled about, fixing a balm that would hopefully cure her wounds. Finally, the salve was eased onto the irritated skin and the red, raised areas diminished within seconds. All that was left was the ghostly outline reading '_Viktor Krum'_.

Harry and Ron reverted back to their frosty exteriors as Hermione put herself to rights. "She'll live then?" Ron asked Madame Pomfrey.

"Yes, she'll be fine I believe."

"Glad to hear it," muttered Harry.

Then, without warning or warranting any chances of explanation to Hermione, he and Ron trod through the exit. Hermione's "Wait!" fell upon their deaf ears.

Hermione swung her tanned legs over the edge of the bed, prepared to hurry after them until she was pushed firmly back under the rough sheets. "Not until I've run more tests, Miss Granger. You'll be lucky to walk away with only the tiny scar you've got…"

Hermione's stomach sank. Was it possible—was it even conceivable—to think, for even one second, that Harry and Ron wouldn't forgive her? Obviously things were about to change. But things were always about to change. Even if she wasn't a famous pop-star, the war was spreading fast and quick like the common cold on a chilly day. Surely, once the war reached them, Harry and Ron would learn to live with this revelation—wouldn't they?

"What is it you're saying, Severus?" Dumbledore's voice was stern, down to business.

"He's joined the Dark Lord, Albus. Raping and torturing one innocent girl wasn't enough for him, no; he's joined the Death Eaters…to scratch his itch, so to speak. Viktor Krum now walks amongst those animals; Viktor Krum now _is_ one of those animals."

"That means—"

"That he's got the Dark Lord's protection? Yes—for now, at least. For now, we cannot touch him. Any meddling on my part would reveal my true allegiance. But mark my words, he will never touch her again, secrets be damned."

"Do you think it likely that he'll go after her again?"

At this, Snape hesitated. Finally, he said, "That, honestly, depends on his character. If he's stupid enough to try it, I doubt the Dark Lord would be happy. I mean, think of the girl he chose—Harry Potter's muggleborn best friend. But, of this, I am sure: if the Dark Lord catches wind of these incidents, she is not safe. Not safe in any sense of the word. He'll go to any lengths to destroy the object of his follower's affections. He'll want nothing to distract the boy as the battle draws nearer. He'll seek her and if he succeeds, he'll…"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, saving Snape the trouble of saying exactly _what_ the Dark Lord would do. "She is safe at Hogwarts for now, I presume. But if the time comes, we _will_ need to force her into hiding."

Snape sighed. "I know. I know."

Hermione was cooped in the Hospital Wing until nine at night. When it was determined that she was perfectly fine, she was sent on her way to face the brutality of her friends' frigidness alone. To make maters worse, even at nine at night, students of all ages lined the halls, watching her like a hawk. Some even asked her for her autograph. At first it was only the occasional fan that would approach her—but soon she felt like she'd entered the red carpet. She was used to it in any other respect. But this was coming from Hogwarts students and they were calling her Hermione. They knew who she was and still they idolized her. Would it never end?

Tears were falling freely when she finally stumbled through the crowd into the Gryffindor common room, within which she was greeted with two angry, hurt faces that took no sympathy for her tears.

Harry and Ron, who'd jumped out of their skins when she'd burst through the portrait hole, now glared at Hermione, obviously waiting for an explanation, their unfinished Charms homework completely forgotten. Hermione ground her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears—the last thing she needed now was to appear weak, especially when all three of them were acutely aware of every ear in the common room tilted towards them. Harry and Ron provided no comfort, however—they did not intend to move _anywhere_ more private.

Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably, praying for everyone else to simply back off. "Um…well, I suppose you're wondering why I never told you."

Only glares.

"I…I know I should have."

Still nothing. Hermione eased herself onto the couch beside Harry. Both boys turned to face her coldly. She spoke in a lower voice which obviously made eavesdropping more difficult—everyone leaned towards her simultaneously.

"I'm so sorry for not telling you. But, Harry, you know what its like—having people staring at you, constantly hearing your name come up in conversation, and not always in friendly terms. I was granted a way out of that while still being able to do what I love. Wouldn't you have taken it if you'd gotten the chance too? And Ron, you see what its like. You get scrutinized against for being his friend at times! So why begrudge my having a double life when it's made everything so much easier?"

Harry's eyes could have frozen hell twice over. "No, Hermione, I don't 'begrudge' you. How could you think that? Merlin knows Ron and I'd put our two cents in if we'd have known, we'd have down all we could to help you. Instead you decide we don't have the right to know—"

"It's not that! It's not that at all!" Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "When I first met you, when we became friends, I vowed that I'd give you two three years until I burdened you with this secret. Mind you, I didn't know you well enough back then—I didn't know who you'd tell. And by the time my three year mark was up, you'd proven yourselves more than trustworthy." She lifted her dark gold eyes to stare straight into his piercing green ones, begging him to see the sincerity with which she spoke. "By the end of the three year mark, we were all more than friends. We were so much more like siblings. One's pain was shared by the other two, one's happiness too. By then, I knew we were too far gone. I knew you'd react much like you are. And I don't blame you for one moment, Harry…Ron." Her eyes flickered between both sets of angry, betrayed ones. "Can't you understand that, at least? Can you understand why I didn't tell you at first, and why I couldn't tell you when I'd planned?"

She felt her breathing grow steadily heavier as she realized they weren't making progress at all. Their faces were positively frightening—she rarely ever saw them twisted with so much anger. She stood and paced before them, running a hand through her hair nervously. Now, their listeners weren't even trying to cover their actions. They faced the trio in earnest as though watching an extraordinary production.

She tried again. "Harry, Ron…please. You're my best friends. You'd be the first to know if I'd ever gotten the courage to tell anyone. Snape only knows 'cause he figured out, tricked me, he did—"

"Hold it," said Ron—he looked positively wild. "_Snape? __**Snape?**_ You told that greasy git before you told us? You're joking! You're _joking!"_

Hermione froze. She could have hexed herself into tomorrow, she very seriously considered it. She spun around to face them, remorse pouring from her every word. "He—he made me get rid of a Bogart, he found out by himself, I didn't—"

"No, don't bother anymore, Hermione. Or is it Carmen?" Harry asked with disdain.

Hermione collapsed into a chair and pulled her knees to her chest, failing disastrously at trying to calm herself down. Harry looked down at her and his heart sank: she at there, completely defeated, sobbing over the things _he'd_ said. Certainly, he was hardly less angry when he looked at her long black hair and her puffy, but still radiant, face and realized he'd been lied to for 7 years. But she'd had to keep the weeks of her rape a secret for nearly half a year with no consolation from anyone. That certainly couldn't have been a _nice_ experience. And here were Harry and Ron, the two sources of comfort she'd been banking on, giving her the seven circles of hell for it. Were they in the wrong?

Harry turned his angry eyes upon the attentive room at large. "How 'bout you all get your nosy arses out of our conversation and get on with your own damned lives?" A request that was followed immediately, however begrudgingly. Hermione chanced a small, hopeful glance up at Harry.

Ron did not see it as Harry did. Walking over to Hermione, he knelt beside her pitiful form and spat at her, "I don't know what to think about this anymore, little Miss Riviera, but all I know is that friends tell their friends everything. You, with your snobby, rich and famous attitude, obviously don't deem us worthy enough of such vital information. So goodbye." He took the time climbing the stairs before he slammed the door to the boys' dormitories.

Harry's mouth hung open. He had to make a choice. "Hermione…" he whispered.

She looked up at him, her wide eyes swimming with tears, but her voice was eerily calm. "Do you agree with him?"

Harry wondered—did he? "Yes, on some things—"

"Then you should follow him," she whispered evenly, though her heart was visibly breaking. "Don't let me stop you."

Not trusting her legs, but feeling unable to remain in the stifling common room, she slowly dropped through the portrait hole. She waited until the painting shut entirely before collapsing in an embarrassing, sobbing heap in the corridor.

AN: Sorry to everyone who hates seeing them fight-- I do too. But they have to. Everyones too happy otherwise. It WILL get better.


	10. Chapter 10

One, two, three weeks melted into one another agonizingly slowly and still Hermione received the cold shoulder. She had not tried to talk to neither Harry nor Ron since the first attempt—she knew her resolve could not handle a relapse. She vowed to let them come to her when they were ready. She sat with Ginny Weasley at meal times, sometimes she sat with Neville, both of whom jumped down the throats of those who bothered Hermione about Carmen, for which she was eternally grateful. But the results of her honesty turned out just as bad as she'd feared, if not worse. She now got prank mail every morning, photographs were constantly being snapped with muggle cameras conjured from thin air, and constantly was she asked to break into song, a request which she never obliged. She often found herself hiding out in the depths of the library.

Harry knew his own resolve was weakening. Part of him was still angry—he'd bared his soul to both her and Ron on countless occasions. Of course he'd expected her to do the same. But then he wondered, if the situations were reversed, if he were really some big pop-star…he wondered if he'd have told. He understood where she was coming from—at first she didn't know them well-enough, and then it was too late. But he decided to take the time to sort out his anger before speaking with her. Ron, on the other hand, showed no signs of remorse at his actions. He showed no signs at wishing to make up with her. Harry vaguely wondered when he'd learned to be so…cold.

Snape, meanwhile, noticed a significant change in her behavior whenever she came to help him with a potion. She now remained uncharacteristically quiet, only speaking when spoken to. He found himself enthusiastically trying to engage her in conversation that would appeal to her, only to have her respond with as little speaking as possible.

One particular night after she'd politely forced down one of his awful cookies, not speaking a word without needing to, it finally became too much for him to just let it be. He had to ask.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?"

Glancing up at him, a tirade of emotions flitted across her face, each departing before Snape had a chance to detect them. Finally, she settled on feigning incomprehension. "Oh, I'm fine. Why d'you ask?"

Snape gave her a stern look. "Honestly, it's obvious to anyone with eyes that those two dunderheads you call friends are taking the…news rather childishly. And you, in effect, are suffering from it."

Hermione opened her mouth to defend them, closing it quickly in defeat. "I don't know _how_ I expected them to take it, but I never expected this…I didn't know they had it in them," she whispered more to herself than to him, "to be that cold, I mean. Especially Ron…"

Snape captured her hand with his right and gently lifted her chin to look at him with his left. Her delicate eyebrows were knit together in response to the whirlwind of thoughts running through her head. He nearly melted into her chocolate brown eyes…

He shook his head to clear it. "Miss Granger…Hermione," she smiled at the hesitant shed of her surname, an encouraging little smile, "if they are your true friends, they will come around. Perhaps you've heard that a thousand times, but it rings truthfully nonetheless. Give them time; it is a big secret to handle. And just think—you seem relatively well for the time being. It really can't get much worse."

Hermione sighed in resignation. He was right—it really couldn't.

It had been a full two months since Hermione had burdened the school, and still her friends refused to speak with her. Ginny Weasley threw herself onto the couch next to Harry and her presently dim-witted brother. She put all her focus into glaring at them until her anger was realized.

"Erm…hey, Ginny. Something the matter?" Harry asked rather nervously. Her talents at Bat-Boogey hexes preceded her…

"You could say that," she muttered angrily.

"Oh, just get on with it, will ya. What'd _Carmen _do, ask you to make us regret the whole fight?" Ron asked sneeringly. He was just about grating on Harry's last nerve with all the snarky comments—did Hermione mean _nothing_ to Ron anymore?

"Ron, you can take your damned ego and shove it, alright? Not everything is about you. And it's Hermione, not Carmen, you twit." She took a calming breath as Ron just glared. "Hermione has no idea I'm talking with you. She's too hurt by your foolish insults, dear brother. That's why she's been avoiding you like the plague." She spoke mostly to Harry now, seeing it would be easier to break through his resolve than Ron's. "You don't see what this is all doing to her, do you? You don't even stop to notice—McGonagall's even worried about her. Says she never raises her hand anymore, says she's so distant. Merlin, I can't get her to start a conversation at meal-times. I have to nearly drag the responses out of her. Sometimes she hurries into the lavatory quickly and her eyes are red and puffy when she's through. I'm _worried_ about her. Only picks at her food half the time. And not once have I seen her smile since that night. Not once."

Ginny saw small signs of victory—Harry's emerald eyes drooped with remorse. She was right—he didn't know she'd spent time crying over this after the first night. He didn't know she stopped conversing. That wasn't healthy. He had no idea his friendship _meant_ that much and his heart tightened painfully to think of how much pain he'd caused her.

Without further ado, Ginny got up and swept up the staircase to the Girls' Dormitories, not even taking care to look at Ron's disgruntled face.

Hermione trudged her way to the dungeons for early morning Potions. She did not feel well by any stretch of the imagination. Even the scent of food wafting from the Great Hall had been enough to nearly send her retching.

She dropped her bag unceremoniously onto the floor and collapsed into her chair between Neville and Harry which she'd been forced to remain at through the duration of the painful past two months. She propped her elbows on the work table and rested her pounding head in her hands. She vaguely felt eyes on her coming from Harry's direction but felt far too ill to inquire about it. It was all she could do to appear attentive as Snape began his lecture.

The difficulty of such a feat was every increasing. At first, the potions they were working on were, thank heavens, odorless. But as the potions progressed to their sought after pine-green, (Neville's turning a garish orange), the fumes became dreadfully sweet and Hermione couldn't stand it.

"Sir, c-can I..." was all she was able to stammer before bolting for the exit.

The first thing Snape noticed about his 7th year class was how frighteningly pale Hermione looked. Of course, she was still about a hundred times tanner than the rest of the students, being Spanish and all. But for her, at least, she looked positively sickly. But she had appeared attentive enough throughout his instructions.

However, when he was strolling between the aisles, assessing the students' ability to brew, a small voice called out to him. Turning, he witnessed Miss Granger cover her mouth in mid-sentence and run out the door. He was right—she was ill.

Sighing, as if he handled this sort of thing daily, he instructed the class to stay put if they wanted to graduate and followed her out the door. A quick search found her retching in the nearest Girl's Lavatory.

The sight worried him. After…finishing, she lay her head against her arm weakly, still unaware of his presence. He cleared his throat politely and quietly, trying not to startle her, but startle her he did. She jumped and looked around quickly, but the sudden movement upset her stomach again and another wave of nausea racked her. At a loss for what to do, he conjured a comfortingly warm cloth and placed it gently on the back of her neck. She rested her head against her arm gratefully. Snape bent down to look at her levelly.

"Have you recently eaten anything unusual?" Snape questioned quietly.

"No," she breathed, barely above a whisper.

"A visit to the Infirmary is in order. If you're finished here, that is."

At her confirmation, he gently slung his arm around her waist, keeping her upright and guiding her in the right direction. He placed her arm around his shoulders, easily supporting her.

They walked into the crowded Infirmary and were greeted with by an exhausted, somewhat grouchy Medi-witch. Hermione was pushed onto a white hospital bed, grateful that Snape remained close by.

Hermione was put through probably every test Madame Pomfrey was able to perform. The most obvious explanation would have been a fever or the stomach flu, but she had neither.

Madame Pomfrey became exasperated. "Well, I just don't know what it could be, Miss Granger. I've tested for nearly everything. Except…" Suddenly, her eyes became wide and filled with dread.

"Except what?" Snape asked nervously.

Madame Pomfrey didn't respond; instead she waved her wand down the length of Hermione's stomach and gasped dramatically when it turned pink, clamping her hand over her mouth.

Hermione looked uncertainly at Snape who gazed anxiously right back. What could it be that the Medi-witch didn't normally see?

They were both saved the trouble of answering when Pomfrey quietly asked, "Miss Granger…forgive my bluntness, but were you ever _with_ any men besides Viktor?"

It took Snape a moment to realize that Pomfrey was asking if Hermione would be a virgin if it were not for Krum.

"Uh…no, Viktor was the only one," Hermione said, candidly puzzled.

Pomfrey had so suddenly lost the appearance of aggravated Medi-witch. Now she seemed like a kindly concerned motherly figure. "Well, dear…that bastard is going be a father. You're pregnant, Hermione."

AN: Cliff note:) I'm sorry, it's mean. But the next chapter is a bit happier all around for anyone who disliked this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Very rarely in all the time she'd known him had Poppy Pomfrey seen Severus Snape look quite so enraged. She got the distinct impression that had the daft boy been in the room at the time, he'd have been dead already.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt her mouth slacken as she stared at the Medi-witch in horror. Pregnant? Couldn't be—no, no, simply couldn't—

"How sure are you, Poppy?" Snape asked through gritted teeth. His pale hands gripped the side-bar of her bed in a death grip.

"There's…there's no doubt, Severus. She's going to be a mum." Turning to Hermione, she said, "I'm so sorry dear."

Hermione nodded vaguely, but neither adults could tell if she was actually listening. She had averted her gaze and was now staring into space. Her eyes were glassy, possibly with unshed tears, and were filled with defeat.

Snape stayed while Pomfrey went through all the preliminaries, how often Hermione should stop for a visit and the like. Hermione gazed at the Medi-witch wide eyed, looking the picture of innocence, when Pomfrey explained how easily some simple accident could set off an early delivery. Snape was astounded to hear that a simple tickling charm could possibly set off horrible muscle spasms.

Inside, Snape was fuming. What sort of terrible score did the Fates have to settle with the girl? How much more tragic shock could she handle? Honestly, he was surprised she'd made it this far without some sort of mental break down, what with Potter and Weasley still not speaking to her… Truth be told, Snape was a little disconcerted by her distant reaction. The girl was just told she was going to be a mum and all she could do was stare like a deer in the headlights. Perhaps it _was_ finally becoming too much.

When at last she was free to return to Gryffindor tower, Snape gripped her elbow firmly in support after she nearly ran into to doors. He kept a cautious eye on her, for her vacant expression began to slightly worry him.

Halfway there, Snape's heart skipped a beat at the strangled cry issued from the girl beside him. He turned in time to see her cover her face in her hands and slide slowly down the stone wall behind her. This was more the reaction he'd expected. Kneeling down to her level, determinedly forgetting about the overly curious passersby (some of whom had the audacity to actually stop and eavesdrop) Snape gently brushed the sleek black hair out of her face calmingly. Hermione dropped her hands at this and gazed at him with wide, glistening big brown eyes. Once again, Snape found himself melting in chocolate irises…

"I'm sorry, I didn't…" she floundered, breaking him out of his reverie.

"You've nothing to apologize for, Miss Granger. You had no hand in this," he whispered soothingly, gesturing vaguely towards her.

"I didn't mean to cry on you. I've tried so hard not to. But lately…" she trailed off as she quickly hid her face from a blunt onlooker. One ferocious growl from Snape and the boy scampered on his way.

"But honestly, what else can happen? Raped, impregnated, and shoved into fame, all in under a year," she whispered miserably, staring at a spot on the floor, not really seeing it.

"Indeed. Awful circumstances…" Snape broke off, coming up with no words of comfort.

She seemed not to have heard him though. Shaking her head to clear it, she wiped ferociously at the escaped tears, as though they were to blame. Snape gripped her elbow firmly and gently helped her up. Neither of them spoke again until they'd safely made their way to Gryffindor Tower.

Just as she was about to give the password, it hit her. What was she doing going back to the common room? She had the rest of her classes to attend—it wasn't even midday yet.

As though he could read her mind, (or perhaps he had), Snape said, "No more classes for you today, Miss Granger. You were far too ill back there. I'll be sure to explain the situation to your teachers, they'll understand. Now, no reading, no studying—you need sleep, you look positively exhausted. I'll send a house elf up with lunch if you so wish," he muttered, to which Hermione abruptly paled and shook her head, "or not…well, you may summon a house elf by saying his or her name if hunger compels you."

She nodded. "Thank you, Professor," she said quietly, tiredly.

He acknowledged her thanks with a nod of his own before saying, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with the Headmaster. Remember, rest."

And he was off, leaving her staring at the impressive swirl of robes as they settled around his body.

"Licorice snaps," Snape muttered at the stone gargoyle, which leapt out of the way to allow him access to the now-moving staircase. He beat on the door and had slipped inside the office before Dumbledore had gotten the chance to say, "Enter."

"Ah, Severus. Lemon drop?" Dumbledore questioned casually.

All sweet-toothed inquiries were forgotten when Dumbledore took in the look on Severus' face as he threw himself into a chair opposite the Headmaster.

"What's happened?" Dumbledore asked, instantly sobered.

"The time's come, Albus, we've got to move her. All it'll take is for one Death Eater's son to tell his daddy once she starts showing. She's not safe here anymore. He'll kill her," Snape spat. "She's pregnant," he clarified, his tone malicious, fore Dumbledore held a bewildered air.

Instantly, the man paled. His characteristic twinkle fled his eyes, drowned out by fury…and fear. Slowly, he departed from his seat behind his desk and walked over to a cabinet, from which he extracted a bottle of brandy and two large glasses. Clunking Snape's down before him, he took his seat once more and swung back a long sip before saying, "No, she is not safe."

Snape nodded solemnly, his anger making way for sorrow. "But where to move her?" A better question would have been 'How much more can the girl take before literally breaking down?'

Dumbledore turned his gaze to the swirling golden contents of his beverage in thought. "Not the Order, too risky for someone who's expecting, what with Kreacher…needs to be safe…" Suddenly, his head snapped up, his eyes widening as a thought occurred to him. "Severus, tell me: do you still own that house over in Naples?"

It clicked. "Yes, and it still has—"

"All the safety wards?"

"Yes, and none of the Death Eaters—"

"Know that you own it."

"Yes," Snape said. "That'll mean the both of us will be leaving. I'll not have a scared, pregnant teenager wandering about on her own."

"Wouldn't dream of it. But we've got time," Dumbledore said quietly, gravely. "I don't want to pull her from everything she loves until entirely necessary."

She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to scream and cry and throw a fit.

But first things first.

Slowly, Hermione made her way to where Harry and Ron were bent over their Potions homework, faces contorted in concentration. She took a calming breath as she gently sank into an armchair facing them.

She almost gave in to her desire to runaway screaming as both pairs of eyes looked up to meet hers—Ron's could still freeze hell. Instead, she quickly lowered her eyes.

Before she could speak, though, Harry's voice cut in. "Hermione—"

"Hang on a second, Harry. I know you're still angry, I don't really blame you. But I'm smart enough to know not to make the same mistake twice."

Harry looked confused but held his tongue. She gazed into his eyes. They drowned her in concern, which made it nearly impossible to tell them what she had to.

"Spit it out, then," Ron muttered coldly.

Not daring to look Ron in the face, thanking Merlin that they had the common room to themselves for once, Hermione whispered, "I'm pregnant."

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence, until—

"WHAT? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?" Ron was on his feet now, looking at her wildly.

"You heard me, Ron. I'm pregnant," she whispered almost too softly to hear.

To Hermione's intense surprise, she was suddenly encased in strong arms, her face buried in untidy black hair. After the initial shock at her obvious forgiveness, she returned the hug just as fiercely.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry. And not because of what you just told me. I mean, of course I'm sorry about what you've just told me, but it's not only that—ugh, I'm rambling."

Hermione smiled gently and pulled away from to look into his frustrated emerald eyes. He tried again. "That's what I was trying to tell you before. I'm sorry; I've been acting like a prick. I was just clinging to my anger because I was sore at being left out of something. But, however corny it sounds, I'm here for you no matter what."

Hermione's smile widened.

Behind them, Ron spoke. "This might be a stupid question, but…who's the father?"

It lacked Ron's previous malice, but her smile faltered anyway. "Who do you think?" she asked, a little sharper than she'd intended. She softened as his face fell. "I'm sorry; the whole thing is just so…unfair."

Now Ron looked embarrassed. Sitting on the small table in front of the armchair she occupied, he said, "Look Hermione, I'm sorry too. I guess I was just mad about not being the first to know. We were stupid. Forgive us?" His blue eyes were hopeful, a the foolish grin Hermione had come to love playing on his mouth.

She smiled and hugged him tightly. "Of course."

Straightening up, Ron said loudly, "Now what the hell am I to do with you two? Can't go out in public with either of you without causing a ruckus!"

Harry and Hermione each whacked him with overly stuffed pillows.


	12. Chapter 12

Sleep was cruel in its evasive game, edging tauntingly around her, never quite touching her tense body. She rose with the sun, mind reeling, after a night of wakefulness. Hermione had never been a morning person. She'd once scoffed at those who rose early on purpose, just to see the sight. But what a sight it was.

Half a sphere of pure gold graced the horizon. Its rays uncurled from their nighttime slumber, waking and grinning at her with their powerful brilliance. The sleepy pines gently shook the last traces of the dark night from their limbs, saluting the overwhelming ring of gold. The peaks of the farthest towers stood proudly drenched in amethyst. A songbird gently tuned its vocals in the distance. White lilies stood sleepily, cast in a mauve hue, lining the shore of the vast Black Lake, its shimmering surface rippling in ecstasy. The world was slowly awakening.

Her face adorned a smile as she slowly got ready for the day. It had been a week since she'd been given the news and her smiles had been far and few. But one could not watch the sunrise and be morose still.

She waited for Harry and Ron in the common room, only to barge in on there slumbering forms not twenty minutes later. One could only wait so long.

Shaking Ron's shoulder gently, she said quietly, "Come on, Ron, we barely have time for breakfast as it is. Do you want to be late for class?" Ron opened one eye in agitation before wrenching his coverlet up and over his head.

Shaking her head, fighting a smile, she instead put her efforts into waking Harry, proving to be a load easier than the first. A moment later both Harry and Hermione pulled Ron out of bed, covers and all.

CHANGE OF SCENE

He groaned. Reaching over, he slammed his fist into his buzzing alarm clock, sending it soaring to the opposite wall. How he loathed mornings. Slowly, he raised himself into a sitting position and ground the sleep from his eyes like a small child. Stumbling over to his private bathroom, he blindly groped at his long night shirt. Still clad in his lounging pants, he turned the shower on and let the water run. He trudged over to the small mirror on the wall, steadying himself against the sink.

Slowly, as if preparing for battle, he raised his eyes to his reflection. In actuality, Severus was a handsome man. But his overly critical mind glared at the pale face in the mirror with an emotion akin to disgust but not quite so harsh.

Through curtains of shiny black hair peered two black eyes, so stern when set in their habitual scowl, so gentle when they were caught off guard. His nose, though rather large, fit his face in a way a smaller one would not. His creamy white skin, too ghostly in his eyes, framed his stained red lips marvelously.

He scowled and averted his eyes, pulling at the drawstrings of his lounging pants at long last. Stepping into the steaming stall, he stood there a moment, simply allowing for the scolding water to pour over his skin, cleansing him of everything but that very shower…

Author's note: Sorry its so short--I'm only 15 and I've got mid terms to study for! More coming soon, promise.


	13. Chapter 13

She sifted through the mounds of text books and parchment before her, in desperate search of a quill, when she caught her approaching Head of House out of the corner of her eye. Sighing, preparing for the inevitable, she raised her head and spread her lips into a small, but welcoming smile.

She'd looked up in time to catch a glimpse of McGonagall's frenzied, pitying expression before she'd slid on a mask, a façade of calm apathy.

"Ah, Miss Granger, just the person I was looking for," she exclaimed, her voice light and airy with a false exuberance.

"Hello, Professor. What can I help you with?" Hermione asked politely, clearing her bag and several roles of parchment off of a nearby chair.

McGonagall took the preferred seat obligingly, smoothing out her professional robes. She had an air of anxiety, festooned with a thick coating of tension that was settling around them, separating teacher from student.

"Professor…is something wrong?" Hermione questioned tentatively.

"No, no of course not," she replied, only a hair too quickly.

Hermione captured eye contact which McGonagall found very difficult, if not impossible, to break. Hermione's large, innocent, chocolate brown eyes were rather persuasive and she'd apparently put them to frequent use over the years.

"Alright, alright. I would've preferred a bit of small talk before diving right into the issue, but alright. I've just been informed by the Headmaster that it is _my_ job to see you through the plan," she muttered, rather bitterly. "Though, why Severus can't is a mystery to me, he's always playing the bloody 'Death Eater' card…personally, I'm not fond of the idea at all. Whose to say his home is any safer than Hogwarts? They're just going to get you killed…"

She was rambling. For a moment, Hermione almost questioned her mental health. "Professor, what on earth are you talking about?"

Her mumbling ceased and she shook her head. "I'm sorry Miss Granger. I'm here to ask you if you've packed yet. It would be best to leave tomorrow, but it can be put off until the weekend if necessary."

Now she really_ did_ worry about her mental health. "Pack? Pack for what? Where am I going?"

It was McGonagall's turn to appear baffled. "You don't know? Of course you know, Snape said he'd…he said…" Comprehension unveiled across her pale face, followed instantly by rage. "Death Eater meeting my ass! Of course. How could I be so stupid? He left me to sort out your reaction! He put the burden of enlightening you on me. Oh, when I get my hands on him…"

Before Hermione could utter a single syllable, McGonagall had jumped up from the table, sending her upset chair clattering to the floor. She tore down the hallway in blind fury, Hermione struggling to keep up, the books she'd left sprawled across the table completely forgotten. In record time, Hermione was clambering down the stairs to the dungeons, but despite her speed, McGonagall remained a good distance ahead. She barged into Snape's personal office—Hermione arrived just in time to see his shocked expression melt away, replaced by a burning rage.

"What the bloody HELL gives you the right—" he began, only to be cut off by her sharp voice.

"Oh, don't you harp to me about discourteousness, Severus—"

"Now, really Minerva, what've I done that's so—" He paused when he saw Hermione. Understanding dawned but he struggled to hold onto his anger.

"Yes, Severus. You seemed to have left out the fact that she doesn't KNOW!" McGonagall ranted.

He blanched, before shouting, "That doesn't excuse your less then gracious entrance," though neither McGonagall nor Hermione looked convinced. Not even Snape deemed his futile argument believable.

"Before the shouting starts up again, can someone tell me what the hell we're all screaming about?" Hermione said, momentarily silencing both of the seething professors.

McGonagall pursed her lips, folded her arms across her chest, and turned toward Snape, quite clearly insinuating that it would be he who relayed the Headmaster's plans. Snape, still rather surly at having his scheme soiled, sighed in relent.

"Miss Granger, it is the Headmaster's wishes that you are to be moved into a safe house until further notice—"

"Moved out of Hogwarts? I'm being…what, kicked out?" Hermione asked, bewilderment painted on her nicely featured face.

"No, not kicked out, of course not. But Miss Granger…Hermione," Snape sighed, hoping to get through to her more with the use of her first name. It took affect—she visibly calmed. "It will not be safe for you here in a few weeks time. We've kept you here as long as possible, but you're already three months along and you won't be able to hide the pregnancy before long."

"So? I mean, I don't exactly wish to put it on display but I don't see why I have to leave!"

"It's not about that, it's…" Snape hesitated. The next bit would not come easily. He led them wordlessly into his private living quarters and motioned for a large sofa, sitting opposite a love seat in his spacious living room.

Once they were seated comfortably, he delved into the frightening tale.

"Not long after I'd discovered the circumstances of the…incident, the Dark Lord called his supporters to him, under the rationale of introducing of a new generation of Death Eaters. Krum was among them." Snape saw Hermione whiten and quickened the pace of the story. "I'm sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Krum is now under the protection of the Dark Lord and we all know he isn't exactly the most powerful wand to in the shop. He is bound to brag about the incident between the two of you to the rest of the Death Eaters. You know that the children of Death Eaters attend this school. If one of them witnessed the evidence of your pregnancy and reported back to their fathers, the latter will make the connection and alert the Dark Lord at once. He, as you can imagine, frowns upon mating with Muggle-borns. You are not safe at Hogwarts as long as Krum is a follower of the Dark Lord."

Snape had watched her face fall throughout the duration of his account. He watched her wide, coffee brown eyes expand, shining with a tangible anxiety. He hated to be the one to cause such a reaction out of her. While it was true that torturing students was a fond hobby of his, the girl before him had never wronged anyone—she was a girl whose innocence had been ripped from her soul. She was intelligent beyond measure, kind to all, and as radiant as the sun on a clear blue day...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and it was a long moment before he realized that she'd spoken. "Pardon me. What was that?"

"Where will I be going?" A single tear trailed down her cheek. The sight literally pained him.

"I've a small villa just inside of Italy. It's not exactly much but it'll do."

"So you'll be coming with me?" Her face brightened at the prospect of company and Snape's heart tightened in an unexpected joy.

"Of course. Now, I know this is difficult, but we must be ready to go by tomorrow night. Is that possible?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll be ready."

CHANGE OF SCENE

It was with poignant spirits that Hermione trudged to the Great Hall for dinner. Although comforted by the knowledge that she'd have company, the prospect of leaving was becoming slightly overwhelming. She hated having to part with Harry and Ron so shortly after they'd made up. And while it was true that Professor Snape had helped her a great deal when she could confide in no one else, Hermione could not, for the life of her, imagine _living_ with him. What was she to do, once they were alone, if he were to return back to his snarky, reclusive ways? She knew that she needed human contact to survive. If deprived of it, she'd surely go mad.

She plopped down unceremoniously at her place between Harry and Ron. Both were engaged in a heated discussion about Quidditch, a discussion in which she had no desire to take part. Instead, she swallowed a few mouthfuls of her tomato soup without really tasting it. Half an hour later, she decided that she'd spent enough time in the Great Hall to avoid the suspicion of her friends. But alas, Harry was as observant as ever.

"Where are you going? You've not finished your soup," he exclaimed, adopting a rather fatherly tone that both touched and irritated Hermione.

"Thanks, _Dad_, but I'm not all that hungry. There's…something I've got to do."

"You can't not eat, not in your condition!" Ron had a way of referring to her pregnancy as if it were a particularly grave malady.

"I'll be fine. But, I want to speak to you both later. Common room at eight?"

"Well, alright, but take some of the fudge for later, it's delicious," Harry insisted.

Finally, her arms laden with the assortment of treats that'd been forced upon her, she swiftly ambled out of the Great Hall. In her haste to depart, she hadn't noticed a pair of concerned black eyes studying her from the Head table.

Back in her private Head Girl's room, she tersely thrust her belongings into an enchanted duffle bag, its insides designed to store ridiculous amounts—she could shove a Buick into it without a at the seems.

At eight, she traipsed down the curvy staircase leading to the common room, in which she found Harry and Ron anxiously awaiting her influx. Harry attempted a small smile at her but it appeared as more of a twisted grimace. She sighed. They really were more attentive than she gave them credit for.

After collapsing into three overstuffed arm chairs, Harry launched into questioning. "What's going on? We can see that there's something wrong, you don't look happy at all. Is there something wrong with the…you know, baby?"

Hermione was touched by his concern. "No, no, it's nothing like that. Where to start?"

She quickly relayed to them everything she'd been thus far enlightened. She watched with a quiet interest as Harry's face turned a sickly pale, while Ron's turned the color of his hair.

"So you're what?" Ron muttered hotly. "On the run?"

"Well…yes, only the enemy doesn't know he's chasing us yet. But eventually, it will be necessary and this way, we'll buy ourselves a little more time."

"But…how are you going to stand it? Hell, you're pregnant, meaning you'll be moodier than ever," Harry exclaimed, receiving a well-deserved smack for the understated jibe, "and you'll have nobody but Snape. Snape! You'll probably be alone for every minute you're gone. He'd be the man to leave a pregnant woman to her own devices if any man would."

"Harry, I'm pregnant, not ill! What you've got to understand, though, is that Professor Snape has actually been…_helpful._ I know it sounds weird, I hardly believe it myself, but it cannot be denied that Severus Snape can be a gentleman if he so desires. I'll be alright. But if things don't go as planned and I _am_ alone, I'm warning you now, I _will_ need human contact. Harry, how familiar are you with mobile phones?" She questioned with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Harry grinned at her genius, fore both knew if Snape turned out to be the ass Harry was so determined to deem him, they'd take pleasure in the fact that they could drive their professor up a wall with the introduction of mobile phones. They could hear him now, huffily demeaning their devices of communication, ("You expect to talk to Potter, who happens to be in a different _country_, by means of that simple box with buttons? You are far more daft then I ever feared, Miss Granger…).

Oh, this could be fun.


	14. Chapter 14

Dawn reared its dew-laden head, escorting an uncommonly bright-eyed Severus Snape. He awoke to a warm, blazing fire in the hearth, courtesy of a house-elf no doubt. He stretched languorously in his feather-filled bed before finally straightening into a sitting position. He vaguely wondered as to the reason for his abnormal contentment, only to realize that it was because he was to show Hermione to her new home in Italy, one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

He stopped in his tracks. He shook his head at his own foolishness. He wasn't in a good mood because she was moving in, how preposterous—it was just the early hour getting to his head…

BREAK

An hour later saw Hermione seated on her trunk near the front double doors, their designated meeting place. At the distant echo of footsteps she glanced up, only to see her Potions Master stepping calmly, stoically, _slowly_, down each stair. Every reverberated stride chaffed at Hermione's composure, waned her confidence. The sly smirk smeared across his face told Hermione that he knew it, too, and was thoroughly enjoying his power.

"Why, Miss Granger, aren't we wound up quite early in the morning," he murmured, feigning incomprehension as to her presence at the entrance of the castle.

"Oh, yes, I normally wake at the crack of dawn and sit by the doors. Part of my routine," she replied without missing a beat.

His grin widened into an appreciative smile at her quip before motioning for her to lead the way. They trailed down the grounds of the castle to the elected Apparation area, just beyond the fence. A thick fog hung in the air, the residue of an early morning rain shower.

Turning to her, he asked, "This is your first time Apparating, correct?"

"Yes," she confirmed, a bit uneasily, "I was supposed to start lessons, but the whole pregnancy-fiasco sort of put that on the back burner."

He nodded understandingly, and then considered her carefully. "Tell me, Miss Granger, have you eaten much this morning?"

She shook her head uncertainly. "Just a bit of toast." Her uncertainty gave over to suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you'll see." His face gave her the impression that what she was to see was not entirely pleasant.

Without further ado, he clasped her hands firmly, and together they spun. Hermione now thoroughly understood his question. Air compacted against her from all sides, making breathing exceedingly difficult, while a peculiar swooping sensation made her sick to her stomach. The world around her was shifting at high speed and she shut her eyes immediately. She was exceptionally relieved when her feet finally reunited with the ground. She cautiously opened her eyes only to find herself staring into the concerned black pair that was Severus Snape's.

"Are you alright? The first few times can be hard on a stomach—I remember all too well. Would you like to rest for a moment?"

"No, no, I'm fine," she insisted.

He studied her, as if deciding whether or not to have her rest without her consent. Finally, apparently trusting her judgment, he stepped back. Hermione looked around. They'd landed in a darkened, deserted ally. Of course they couldn't Apparate straight to the front porch of their refugee-home—it just might peak the suspicion of the Muggle neighbors.

Slowly, the made their way out of the ally way and merged into the traffic of early-morning shoppers, striving to appear inconspicuous. Succeeding in their task, which was not exactly difficult because not a soul paid them any mind, Hermione was free to look around. Her jaw very nearly dropped.

It was just as she'd pictured. Lining the smooth-stoned streets were true architectural masterpieces, erected with the magnificence and grace that preceded them. At each corner of every splendid street were either quaint little café's, small tourist shops, or street vendors selling traditionally Italian merchandise.

She failed to notice Snape's smirk at her reaction. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Hermione glanced up, his voice bringing her out of her reverie, and smiled. "That's quite an understatement, but for lack of a better term, beautiful will suffice."

Snape's grin widened. "Have you ever been before?"

"I've been to Italy, but only to do a small concert or an autograph signing or the like. I've never been in an area like this. Being Spanish, we always vacationed in Barcelona, where I grew up."

"I see. Well, I suppose that leaves me to give you a grand tour. I know this town like the back of my hand."

Hermione glanced up to see his grin widening still. During her younger school days, she rarely, if ever, saw him crack a smile. And now, he was grinning like a giddy school boy about to embark on summer vacation. She found that she rather liked it.

Averting her eyes back to the road ahead, she gasped as she very nearly ran into a solid body.

"Oh, excuse me!" She said in a flustered voice. It seemed to appear out of nowhere.

It, or he to be more accurate, was a boy of around seventeen or eighteen with extremely well-groomed black hair. He had excited brown eyes and fairly tanned skin. Hermione would've thought he was very good-looking, barring one detail. His entire body had an air of arrogance. He stood in the center of the busy street, stopping like the world waited for him, when in actuality, people were skirting around them muttering in angry, rushed Italian.

"I'm sorry," Hermione tried again when he gave no response. "Do you speak English?"

"English?" the boy said smoothly. "Si. And it is alright, the fault is mine."

It was English, severely broken, but English it was. And though he took the fault, there was something Hermione strongly disliked about this boy. She couldn't put her finger on it.

"'Kay, well then, guess we'll be off—"

"Pardon," he interrupted as she made to careen around him like the natives were doing, "but are you not Carmen Riviera, the, how you say, singer?"

Hermione blanched before glancing up at her professor. He too looked uncomfortable—this was a little snag that neither of them had foreseen.

"Uh—yeah, I am." She smiled modestly, all the while trying exit discreetly.

"Oh, my lucky day, no? How about a signing of a photo, eh?" He suggested, flashing her a toothy grin that irritated her more than it charmed her.

"Erm…well, we sort of have somewhere to be—"

"But it will only take a moment! A signing, quickly."

His less than polite demand chafed on her nerves, and judging by the way his body stiffened, it chafed on Snape's nerves as well. She relented, figuring that it would be the easiest way to rid themselves of this overconfident youth.

"Have you got a pen and a sheet of paper with you?"

"Si, si," he sang, rummaging through his coat pocket.

Hermione scrawled her name across the bit of paper quickly, and smiled congenially as she handed it to him.

"Grazie, signoria!"

To her surprise, his hand shot out and stopped her as she made to move around him for a third time.

"Excuse me, sir—"

"Ah, ah, ah, not before I give this to you," he said flirtatiously, handing her a different folded sheet.

Hermione watched him leave with a sense of relief and aggravation. Glancing down curiously at the folded scrap, she flattened it—and nearly choked on her laughter.

"What is it?" Snape asked, provoked by her mirth.

"He just gave me his telephone number!" She giggled, immediately discarding it in the nearest bin.

Snape failed to find the hilarity in the situation, and realized that it was most likely because he had not the slightest clue as to what a telephone number was, never mind a telephone.

"A telephone is something run by electricity that people use to talk to one another from a distance."

"Ah, so that…boy was 'hitting on' you?" Snape muttered, not letting onto the rather disconcerting fact that the incident made him inclined to punch the lad in the face. He had no idea where this sudden aggression toward the flirtatious boy came from…

"In a way, yes," she replied, rather amused at his use of the term 'hitting on'.

Putting the incident aside, they reached an unspoken agreement that they needed to do something to prevent future occurrences of similar situations. Meandering to the side of the road, ducking safely into the darkness as Snape stood watch for overcurious Muggles, Hermione conjured a dark blue cabby hat and an oversized pair of white sunglasses and placed both on in their appropriate places.

"There," she said contentedly, "barely recognizable."

Snape eyed the transfiguration and deemed it perfectly passable, though he experienced a vague disappointment at the shielding of her large, chocolate brown eyes... Shaking his head for the umpteenth time that day, he offered her his arm and together they set on down the pathway that lead to his rustic home.


	15. Chapter 15

He smirked grandly as he turned and watched her jaw drop. Her eyes were too occupied to notice.

Before them loomed an enormous edifice that had a perfect view of the Italian country side. The house itself was creamy beige, with a beautifully tiled roof. Hermione's favorite part was the vast window in the front of the house that oversaw the property in full. Acres and acres of lusciously green grass surrounded the house. Off to the left stood an extensive stable, in front of which stunningly groomed horses grazed. One of them, which Snape later described as a mild stallion named Artemis, raised her head curiously to gaze in their direction. Her thick black mane gleamed in the slowly sinking sun, and her warm honey eyes sparkled with interest. She pawed the ground playfully, gently—Hermione found that she trusted the animal immediately.

"Your home is…_amazing_! I had no idea how nice it would be…" Hermione exclaimed, her voice light with awe.

"Yes, it _is_ one of my favorites. Though it's a close call compared to my home in France. That one is really rather fetching," Snape said conversationally, as if multiple homes of the affluent nature were something of a norm. Despite his best efforts to keep it in, he burst into laughter at her incredulous expression.

"Just how many homes do you have?" she asked, her voice pulsing with interest.

"Oh, let's see. There's this one, I've got a smaller one in England, of course, the one in France, I've got one in California, one in Monaco, and two condominiums on different ends of Hawaii," he counted them off on his fingers.

Her jaw dropped even lower than it had upon seeing the gorgeous structure before them. "Who'd have thought that the sour, unhappy Potions Professor would be flat-out, stinking rich?"

He chuckled again. "Ah, 'tis simply an act, my dear. I had to be both sour and unhappy for penalizing reasons. Couldn't have all of those Gryffindors running amuck due to lack of discipline, now could we?"

She snorted. "Oh yes, those darned Gryffindors, because Merlin knows Slytherins are darling little angels—they need no discipline!"

"Glad you see it my way," he said, bowing mockingly. She laughed and jokingly smacked his arm.

This was almost too good to believe. Here she stood, on the skirts of Italy, in front of a beautiful mansion, joking around with the Greasy Bat of the dungeons.

He straightened up, a small smile adorning his face making him look years younger. "But truly, on a serious note, it _is_ mostly an act. You are aware, I'm sure, of how many blooming Death Eaters are planted amongst the students at Hogwarts. If they reported to their Death Eater fathers that fellow Death Eater Severus Snape was a perfectly merry bloke with no real house-wide grudge against Gryffindors, my job would not be as beneficial as it is. I'm telling you this for the soul reason to assure you that I will not be entirely hostile during your stay here. Perhaps a bit hostile—I'm not Gondi, for Merlin's sake—but I'll put my best efforts forth to be friendlier. "

She thought about it for a moment—and was ashamed for not putting two and two together from the moment he'd let his guard down and comforted her when her secret was revealed. "I appreciate your efforts. The rest makes perfect sense, actually. I'm surprised I didn't see it sooner."

"I do pride myself in the ability to act—don't take it too harshly. Also, Miss Granger, I should warn you—let slip to any of your little friends about this new 'discovery' and I'll deny it all. They'll never believe you, anyway," he said, grinning. Once again, she found herself marveling. Who knew that Severus Snape had a sense of humor?

"Don't worry, Professor; your secret is safe with me."

They continued into the house, and were met by a grand staircase upon entrance. He gave her a quick tour, a tour that was probably rather pointless—Hermione knew she'd get lost despite his best efforts to get her familiarized with the place. Finally, they came to a wooden door in either the left or right wing (she'd already forgotten how to get there), at which they came to a halt.

"This, Miss Granger, is your room."

He swung open the door to reveal a room fit for the queen of England. It consisted of three rooms—the first, a small sitting room furnished with a miniature library (to Hermione's delight), an oak-finished desk with fresh parchment placed upon it, a royal blue lounge chair framed in gold, and a large window overlooking the Italian landscape with a blue window seat beneath it, matching the armoire. The second room was the bedroom itself; to the back of the room, centered perfectly against the wall, was her bed—it was like nothing she'd ever seen. Ropes descended from the ceiling, gleaming like spun gold, attaching to a circular bed that hung about three feet from the floor. Snape assured her then that he'd teach her a charm to keep the bed still during the night. It almost looked too comfortable, enveloped in the same royal blue as the sitting room, but this time the material was of the finest silk. Perfectly stuffed pillows sat atop it and it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping up and down upon it like a small girl. Glancing up at the ceiling, she noticed pure Italian art painted across—women in purest form and men looking rather stoic. This room, too, had another, greater, selection of books lining the walls.

The third room was a bathroom the size of a small classroom back at Hogwarts. It was a pure white bathroom with tiled floors and a large bath tub with golden fixtures. Across from the bath sat a Jacuzzi the size of a kiddy pool and Hermione worked very hard to suppress the growing squeal of excitement in her throat.

She whirled around to face Snape. "Never in my life have I seen a room like this."

He grinned, but then it faltered uncertainly. "You like it?" He questioned, his tone genuine—he was really wondering.

"Like it? Well, it's not quite up to _my _tastes, what with being a rich and famous pop star and all," she said, brushing imaginary dirt off her shoulder as if the place was filthy. He laughed heartily. "This place is better than I could've dreamed, Professor. Honestly."

"I'm glad," he said, and he looked it. It warmed her heart.

He glanced at his watch then and gave a slight start. "Dear me, it's nearly eight o'clock. You must be starved."

Now that he mentioned it, her stomach growled in agreement. She waved it off, though, leaving the decisions up to him.

"Of course you are. I have to say, I am as well. Seeing as I really don't want to cook at the moment, how would you feel about dining out? I know a great little place just up the street," he suggested.

She nodded eagerly. He grinned again. "Good, good. Dress casually, and meet me in the foyer in about a half hour."

"That is, if I can _find _the foyer," she muttered in hushed tones.

He caught her little jibe and chuckled. "Good point. If you don't turn up in 45 minutes, I'll go on the search."

Author's Note: First off, I just want to thank everyone who's been reviewing. You guys make my day. And I'll be making updates faster now, I promise. Please keep reviewing--it motivates me!


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: K, a lot of you pointed out the mistake about the horse--sorry! I don't really know the distinctions. For those like me who have no idea, I called a female horse a Stallion which is incorrect. I don't really feel like fixing and reposting it for that small detail, so everyone just pretend I said mare and I'll be sure to refer to the horse as such from now on. Enjoy :)**

In haste, Hermione tugged on her favorite pair of slightly torn jeans that, thankfully, still fit her despite her growing pregnancy. In all honesty, it wasn't very visible yet, even in the tightest of clothes—she'd had always been very fit. But she wanted to put off dealing with this burden for as long as possible.

Pulling on a simple v-neck white shirt with a fashionable black pea coat over it, she stepped over to her large vanity across from her bed. Ignoring the pull-out seat beneath the table, she picked up the gold-encased hairbrush in front of the mirror and ran it through her black tresses a few times. By the time she was done, it shone like the pitch dark sky on a moonlit night, cascading around her like a waterfall of black silk. She paid no mind to her reflection, however; she'd always hated people who fawned and stressed over their appearances. Yanking on a pair of sleek black knee-high boots, with a slight heel for a bit of added height, she walked cautiously into the hall and made her way through the winding hallways.

She made it to the foyer just on time, and for years to come, just exactly _how_ she made it would be a mystery to her. He stood by the door, awaiting her arrival, and glanced up in time to see her descending the stairs. She smiled down at him, her white teeth gleaming against her olive skin. She wore no makeup, and yet her eyelashes were long enough to touch her cheeks when she blinked and framed her eyes in a way he found hard to take his eyes off of. The chocolate irises beckoned him to say something, anything, and yet his nerves clamped down on his tongue. Her hair swung loosely in a way he found most appealing and her lips clung on to a trace of her radiant smile.

Hermione saw with a tough of disbelief that Snape had shed his voluminous robes for the nights' festivities. In fact, he looked downright well-dressed, adorning a dark red button-up shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. He still sported his black, dragon hide boots but they matched the outfit fittingly. Hermione noticed, too, that he had down a job on his hair—perhaps even washed it. It hung to about an inch or so above his shoulders and was tousled attractively.

"Made it," she sighed with relief.

"Indeed. Glad to see that," he said and smiled. "Shall we?"

Hermione took his offered arm and together took the brisk stroll to the café that was, indeed, just down the street. Thankfully, it was not crowded—Hermione was almost positive that she could escape being recognized, for now.

They were seated at a booth near the back of the restaurant, which was perfectly alright with them, and were handed menus by a young waiter that was a little too overly enthusiastic when assisting Hermione for Snape's liking. He narrowed his eyes as the boy strutted away, clearly thinking he looked impressive, and began muttering with a fellow teenaged waiter about Hermione—Snape could tell, for they couldn't take their eyes off of her. Scowling, he glanced down at his attractive companion. One glance at her stunned look and a pleasant mirth engulfed him, taking over for the previous annoyance at the immature youths.

"Yes, a rather impressive menu, wouldn't you say?"

She laughed. "Yeah, you could say that. It would be an understatement, but you could say it."

He laughed in return and made his decision quickly. He would order the traditional Italian cuisine: a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs drowned it tomato sauce. Hey, when in Rome, right? Hermione ordered the same, but a size smaller.

She had feared that the time to be filled would be nothing but awkward, but her worries were unwarranted. They talked about everything—how she got into singing, how he got into potions, if she missed Spain, all the places she'd traveled to, his hobbies, etc. You name it, they covered it.

It was in a comfortable, friendly silence with which the tucked into their meals. Finally, Hermione pushed her plate away, having only finished half of the large meal.

He chuckled. "Yes, a bit much, isn't it?"

"You certainly get your moneys' worth, I'll tell you that."

She grinned, a gesture which he returned; not for long, however, because something drew his eyes over her shoulder and the smile was wiped off his face. His eyebrows lifted in disbelief before lowering in irritation.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

Before Hermione had a chance to question his odd behavior, a loud outburst made her cringe. "Carmen! Bella signora, we meet again!"

Hermione turned toward the source of the obnoxious chatter and found herself staring at the very same arrogant teen who had recognized (and blatantly flirted with) her on the street earlier in the day.

"Oh," she muttered with polite cheerfulness, "hello again."

The boy glanced at Severus, a touch condescendingly, before focusing on her again. "Would you care to join me for a drink or two, signora? Per favore?"

Hermione was a bit shocked by his unwanted brashness. "Uh...oh, no, I couldn't. Thanks for the invite, but I really must decline—"

"No, no, I insist."

"No, really, we were actually just—"

"No excuses, signora!" His tone had just turned a tad too sharp for her liking and her spine stiffened.

"I said no, sir. Thanks anyways."

He crossed his arms across his chest and blew his hair out of his eyes, obviously quite rumpled. "Why not? A good reason."

Hermione brushed her own hair out of her eyes impatiently. "I don't really feel that I need to explain myself to you, but if it will satisfy you, here it is. My _boyfriend_," she stressed the word, reaching an arm across the table and placed a hand on Snape's, "would really not approve my gallivanting off with another man."

The boy raised his eyebrows as if to question why she would chose Snape over him. When he only received her defiant look in response, he swung his gaze to the man in question and Hermione's breath hitched. _Please, _she thought, _oh please don't blow this. Go along with it—play along!_

"She is right, _signor_, and I really am the jealous type so I suggest you back down before things turn ugly," Snape shot at the boy with surprising conviction. Even she was fooled.

The boy made small "Hmph!" before stalking back to his own table. Snape signaled the waiter for the check and moments later they exited the shop, Snape holding a comforting hand to the small of her back like any attentive boyfriend should do—they could feel the boy's eyes on them the entire way.

Once outside, Hermione turned to Snape and sighed her relief. "Thanks for playing along—I really didn't know what else to do. Persistent little bugger, eh?"

"Indeed," he drawled. "Don't mention it Miss Granger."

She smiled, a gesture he returned enthusiastically. Hermione was taken aback. Not just by his sudden helpfulness, but by the garish change she saw in him. The only essence left of the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons was his undeniable intelligence—brilliance, even. But his personality had done a complete 360. He was kinder, more considerate, _gentler_ in every way. She recalled him telling her that his sarcastic ways were merely an act, and at the time she felt it too good to believe. Now, she believed it heartily, and Merlin, did she like it.

**Author's Note: Please review! Good stuff, bad stuff, things I can improve on, things you'd like to see more of. Anything! Thank you.**


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Heyy, I know this took a while, sorryyy. Now that it's summer, updates will be faster, I promise.

Snape held the front door of the manor open for her. "Milady," he said, bowing dramatically.

Giggling, she replied, "Why, thank you, kind sir."

He joined in her mirth merrily. After the chuckles had died done, he spun around to face her, his face alight as if he'd just remembered something.

"Tell me, Miss Granger…have I shown you the library?"

He felt a new bout of laughter bubbling in his belly as he watched her pretty little jaw drop.

"You have a _library?" _she exclaimed. "No, I believe you left that part out."

"Oh, dear me, my mistake. Follow me, then." With that, he sauntered off down the hall, Hermione rushing to keep pace.

She had a burning suspicion that it wasn't a 'mistake' at all. As a matter of fact, she'd be willing to bet a good chunk of change that he'd kept the room deliberately for last—perhaps because he knew how it would please her. The thought warmed the heart, actually.

Lost in thought, she nearly ran right into him as he froze in front of a grand set of double doors. He raised an eyebrow, and she grinned, refusing to succumb to his immature bating. Seeing that his attempts were unsuccessful, his smirk slipped into a smile as he stoically pulled both doors open.

Hermione's already large eyes doubled in size and her mouth released an involuntary gasp as she took in the interior. Four walls, completely smothered in tomes of varying age and volumes of diverse size, encased a charming arrangement of perfectly stuffed velvet armchairs set around lamps equipped with the exact amount of light Severus (and coincidentally, Hermione) preferred for reading. There were even two lounge chairs pushed into one corner, incase a reader grew weary and needed a lie down.

"It's even bigger than the Hogwart's library," she whispered, her awe laden voice striking laughter in him.

"Am I correct in assuming that you'll be spending the evening in here?" he asked, a question to which he already knew the answer.

She grinned and nodded and hastened to examine his collection of books, leaving him to shake his head good-naturedly behind.

Half an hour later found Snape seated by an emerald encrusted lamp, gripping an ancient book on old Roman Sorcery. Coming across the words "lesson plan" on the aged, yellow pages reminded him that it was his duty (and clandestinely, his privilege) to continue Hermione in her N.E.W.T.'s studies.

"Oh, Miss Granger, tomorrow morning after breakfast would probably be the best time to construct a class schedule for…oh, Merlin," he sighed, for he'd swung his head around to speak directly with her and found that he had a rather inattentive audience.

She lay curled into the seat of the arm chair, with her head resting on an armrest. The book she'd chosen, a collection of studies conducted by overly analytic potioneers, was strewn across her stomach. Her jean-clad legs were folded against the opposite armrest and her bare feet (her boots had long ago been shed) remained dangling slightly. For a moment, the emerald green polish gleaming on her toe nails held Severus's attention and amusement. Shaking his head and chuckling lightly, he placed his book on his own armrest and stood, stretching leisurely. Then he swooped down and scooped her into his arms, frowning at the lack of weight—he didn't know the average density of a young woman but he was certain that lifting her should not have been _that_ easy.

Ridding the thought, he gathered her accidentally discarded wand from the seat of the armchair. His heart gave an odd flutter when her head fell back to rest against his muscular chest. He marched her limp form up the grand staircase with surprising ease and set her gently down gently beneath the covers of her circular bed upon arrival. Realizing that she was still fully clothed, he wondered what her usual night clothes consisted of…did women sport night gowns nowadays? Deciding he would go with a yes, he transfigured her rough jeans and black jacket into a white sleeping gown, completed with lace and a magnificent silk stitch. He gazed down at his handiwork, but became much more fascinated with subject of said achievements. Her pink lips were parted slightly, curling into a slight, peaceful smile to reveal pearly white teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. Her raven black hair cascaded around her like a pool of black velvet, a few stray wisps tickling her tanned cheek. He smoothed the strays away gently, accidently brushing the dainty hand that rested against the feather stuffed pillows. The hand curled weakly around his fingers and he could not stop the smile that spread from ear to ear, nor the warmth that was born in his stomach and spread to every inch of his body. He marveled at how one girl could cause such a change in him; albeit a brilliant, beautiful, talented, kind-hearted girl, but one girl nonetheless. What shocked him more, however, was the fact that he didn't _mind _the change. Not a bit. He was truthful when he confessed that his actual demeanor was not nearly as sadistically cruel as his Hogwarts persona tended to be, but he never was a particularly compassionate fellow. One look at this pop star, however, and he felt a compelling, bubbling excitement. Never before had he felt for when being as strongly as he did for Hermione Granger. The thought would normally disturb him, even _frighten_ him, but as he gazed upon her slumbering silhouette, he couldn't bring himself to care.

She turned her head slightly so that her cheek was resting on the pillow, and the movement was enough to snap him out of his reverie. He tiptoed to the door of her bedroom, and silently shut the door behind him.

Author's Note: Hope you liked it! Please review. I know, this one mainly focused on Snape--next chapter we'll figure out Hermione's feelings.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: So I think this ones a bit longer. I hope.

The morning crept upon them cunningly, surprising both of the house's inhabitants with its sudden arrival. The sun shone almost too brightly into Hermione's room, by way of an enormous window on the far wall, provoking her wakefulness. Its persistence was grudgingly successful, and stumbled out of her circular bed and trudged unceremoniously towards said window. The view wiped out all bleak thoughts of early rising and she found herself instantly cheered as she took in the Italian country side, complete with the gorgeous black mare she'd noticed upon arrival. The horse, whose name Hermione remembered to be Artemis, reared her head back, her raven hair catching the sunlight at just the right angle so that it glistened and sparkled like blackened crystal. As though she could feel Hermione's eyes on her, Artemis swung her head sharply in the direction of Hermione's room. From another creature, the gesture would perhaps be quite frightening, but Hermione felt nothing but comfort flood through her body as she was pierced with the animals golden eyes.

Unnerved by the fact that she was comforted by the gaze of a horse, but quite calmed by the gaze itself, Hermione turned to find a clock. It was nearly nine in the morning, a fact that startled Hermione much more than the horse's gaze. She very rarely slept in—she'd always had tests to cram for, essays to revise, or homework finish all before her first class of the day. Of course, she no longer had classes—not actual ones, at least, so she supposed her little lay-in was probably nothing of importance.

She'd been briefed by the Headmaster that Snape was to act as a stand in professor for each subject she was taking; quite a feat, considering her copious schedule. The man would have to be well versed in not only potions, for which he was clearly acclaimed, but also Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and he'd have to be proficient in Charms for she was enrolled in the advanced course. Hermione had no trouble believing, however, that he was probably a tad more than qualified to instruct each of the subjects required.

Pulling on her emerald green sweater, equipped with sleeves that were billowy and loose until they cuffed at the wrists, that fell mid-thigh, which she paired with chrome leggings and matching green flats, she was finished dressing. Without much thought, or effort for that matter, Hermione collected her waterfall of black hair and tied it towards the back of her head. It still fell to the middle of her back in long, sultry tresses, but at least it looked neat (and still stylish, though Hermione paid _that_ no mind) from the front. Snatching her wand from her bedside, stowing it in a specialized pocket on the inside of her right sleeve, she was ready.

She once again managed to somehow find her way to the foyer, though it took a bit more time and navigation that the previous night. The smell of frying bacon enticed her nose, however, and sent her searching in an entirely new direction until she finally found the kitchen, an arrival with which she was greeted by a sight she thought she'd never see.

Severus Snape stood at the stove with a frying pan in one hand, an oven mitt in the other. His hair was slightly tousled (cooking was clearly an effort for him—she remembered all too vividly the awful cookies he used to make for their meetings) and his brow furrowed. His charcoal eyes were narrowed in obvious concentration, his lips pursed. His hooked nose stuck out from his face, and yet the entire package struck Hermione as unconventionally handsome. He wore a buttoned black shirt, but his usual pristine appearance was disturbed by the cuffs of sleeves that had been roughly shoved up to rest at his elbows in clear haste. He donned classic blue jeans that, Hermione was slightly taken aback to notice, outlined his nicely shaped behind _perfectly_. She tore her eyes away from that particular image, only to observe something even more ridiculous.

Tied around his waist was a frilly, bright pink, laced _apron_ that could only have been purchased fresh from a Martha Stewart catalog. It was decorated with yellow, blue, red, and purple roses and tiny little birds to match. The sight of the Bat from the Dungeons wrapped in a fuchsia apron was too much for Hermione, and she burst into giggles which she vainly tried to disguise as a nasty bout of coughing—she ended up sounding like a cat gagging on a hair ball.

Severus turned towards the kitchen door at the sound of a chocked, yet unmistakable giggle. Hermione stood before him, a vision of beauty in silver and emerald. _How undeniably Slytherin of you, Miss Granger,_ Severus thought slyly. After putting that particular notion to rest, he was slightly taken aback by her powerful, forceful beauty for what seemed like the umpteenth time since she'd gained entrance to his abode. Severus was not one to judge appearances—for Merlin's sake, his own appearance made him shudder more often than once and shrink away from mirrors whenever confronted by one. So it wasn't that her beauty strengthened his admiration for her; no matter how she looked, her work and knowledge was top notch. It was simply that after seven years of being frustrated, and slightly amazed, by the bushy-haired buck toothed know-it-all, this new visage took some getting used to. Of course, it wasn't every day that one encountered a radiance quite up to Miss Granger's standard.

Her sleek, glossy black hair was pulled into a high ponytail—he found he quite liked it pulled away from her olive toned face, because it left her perfect features remain unmarred. Her wide brown eyes with incredibly long, black lashes captured a look of innocence that he was sure could be very persuasive if she ever decided to put it to use. She had a perfect button nose that finally led down to a pair of luscious pink lips that hid blindingly white teeth. Gods, he never failed to be astounded by her natural beauty.

Another muffled giggle snapped him out of his daze and made him question the object of her mirth. He noticed her eyes were fixed upon him, but not at his face, more towards his waist…

_Dear Merlin—the damned apron! _He stripped the apron off of his body and chucked it across the room, as though a speedy removal would erase her memories of him wearing it. "Yes, quite an apron, isn't it?" He said uncomfortably, which egged on her laughter. "It was my mum's. Only one in the house, I'm afraid, and I tend to be quite messy with food so going without was out of the question…" His voice turned slightly bitter, more from humiliation than real anger. "I suppose you have an idea of what _else_ I could've worn, Miss Granger? Please, by all means—"

"Professor," she interrupted his rant, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'm not making fun of you. It was just…the sight took me by surprise, that's all. Honestly, can you _imagine_ the reactions of your students if you were to suddenly turn up to class dressed like that?"

The fabricated situation caused a brand new eruption of giggles, an upsurge he actually joined in. She was right—it was all quite humorous, now that he knew she was not making fun of him. Severus Snape was a hardened double spy who could handle numerous bouts of the Cruciatas Curse, but a hurt pride was too much for him.

"All right, all right. Breakfast is ready," he announced, and with a flick of his wand, the kitchen table was set for two. Another flick sent the bacon, eggs, pancakes, and sausage.

"Oh, are we feeding the army today?" Hermione chuckled upon seeing the amounts of food he'd produced.

"I wasn't quite sure of your preferences. Besides, I decided to put forth the effort while I still had the energy. Before long it'll be what ever happens to be in the cupboard."

"Which is fine with me, I'm really not all that picky. Pancakes are a favorite of mine though," she exclaimed, stabbing one with her fork.

"As with me, Miss Granger, as with me."

They ate in a comfortable silence after that, a silence only interrupted by the lovely voice of a song bird right by the window. Hermione was nearly finished when she felt eyes on her. Curiously, she glanced up from her plate, only to be greeted by deep, black eyes. As soon as their eyes met, Hermione felt compelled to hold the stare. She would _not_ be the one to back down, not in what was rapidly turning into a staring contest of wits. His eyes pierced hers, most likely trying to read her emotions as she was to him.

Severus _had _been watching Hermione. He was fascinated by how effortlessly delicate she was while she ate. He was so used to the company of sloppy, untidy students who considered it a waste if they didn't shove as much food as possible into their mouths at once. The change of pace was quite welcome. He realized he'd been starring a fraction too long, however, when her curios chocolate eyes lifted to meet his. As soon as they did, Severus saw defiance and determination pass through them and was thoroughly amused. If it was a staring contest the girl wanted, he had no problem with that.

Hermione saw through his piercing gaze to see amusement layered just beneath the surface. That only hardened her determination and without looking away, she carefully laid down her fork and folded her hands beneath her chin, so that she looked like an innocent observer.

At her new gesture, Severus found laughter threatening to erupt and the amusement fought control over his facial expression. Finally, he succumbed and let the mirth surround him. She chuckled too, for she knew her innocent appearance was one to be rivaled.

"You know, a look like that would probably get you considerably far if you put it to good use," Severus chimed in between laughs, "though I'm sure you already know that."

"Why, of course not, Professor," she gasped in mock distress, "I'm hurt you would think such of me." But her eyes told him that she knew very well, indeed.

"Ah," he chuckled, "perhaps I am mistaken."

Both of their hilarity died down in the next several moments and they eased into the comfortable after glow of it.

"If you're finished here, Miss Granger," he said, swiping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin to extract any unwanted crumbs, "we had better set to work on organizing a lesson plan for you. I'm sure you know that I am to be your instructor for every subject…"

She nodded. "The Headmaster told me before we left. I'm ready when you are, Professor."

Momentarily, he seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he said, "It's Severus out of school." At her slightly shocked expression, he explained, "Seeing as we are living together, we'll be seeing an excess of each other. I think it more than appropriate if we progressed to a first-name basis. Do you agree?"

Her confusion melted into delight as she realized that the Potions Master just gave her permission to call him Severus. She smiled widely, flashing her bright white teeth at him. "Entirely."

He grinned to, and sent the dishes to the sink with a wave of his wand. "We'll see to them later."

With that, he strolled from the room, a walk that was considerably less intimidating with the absence of his billowy teaching robes, and gestured for her to follow.

They made there way to a small, yet lavishly decorated sitting room. Most of the furniture was a royal purple in color, with golden framing. Imitating Severus, she sat back on a ridiculously comfortable armchair. They spent the next hour and a half going through her class schedule.

They'd almost finished when Severus said, "Oh, and Hermione, I'm not sure if the Headmaster told you this as well, but he has requested that I teach you Occlumency, and I rather agree with him. It will only help you, in the long run."

Hermione shuddered slightly, recalling just how awful Harry made it out to be. She nodded, though. What else could she do?

Severus nodded as well. "Your first lesson shall be tonight. In the meantime, what do you see we get out and see the town? Breakfast actually wiped us out for supplies so we'll need to go food shopping—why not make a day of it?"

Hermione grinned. "Sounds perfect, Prof—Severus."

He grinned back. "Yes. Severus."

Author's Note: They _will _go shopping next chapter, I won't be skipping it. Please review--I'll update faster, I always do with more reviews .


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: **So I know I said I'd make them go shopping but I got bored with that, haha. So please review!

"I'll have the Cesar Salad, please," Hermione said to the small, slightly hunched over young waitress.

"Actually, she'll have the tomato soup as well, and I'll have the same," Severus added, handing the waitress his menu and sitting back in his cushioned chair.

"Your food will be right out," she waitress mumbled, before exiting in a pace that was considered just shy of a run. The girl was not what you'd call _personable._

"Strange, I don't recall wanting tomato soup," Hermione challenged, feeling both amused and slightly irritated by his over protective attitude.

"A simple salad is not enough for someone who has been on their feet all day long, _especially_ a woman who is expecting," Severus warned, taking on a very serious tone, as if this were no joking matter.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't argue further.

Severus watched Hermione as she rummaged through one of their purchases of the day. They'd spent the entire afternoon in the ever expansive Tuscany, where they shopped for food supplies, some Muggle contraption that he recalled Hermione referring to as "mobile phones", whatever they were, and they even did a little clothes shopping. Hermione had insisted that, though he had a nice variety of lively shirts, he lacked somewhat in the pant area. He had, of course, argued that his pant collection was perfectly suitable, to which she'd countered with an ever popular "You own nothing that doesn't resemble black." It was inarguably true, and before he knew what was happening, he was exiting the Men's Warehouse with freshly procured cargo pants in an assortment of whites to dark beige.

It was nearing two by the time they were done, and Severus was furious with himself that he'd let her go that long without nourishment of some sort. He'd hurried them into the nearest café, as though she'd succumb to a dead faint any moment if he didn't get something edible in her.

"Hermione, may I ask you a question?" Severus asked somewhat tentatively.

"Of course."

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do with the child after it's born?" He gauged her reaction carefully—he knew his question was a difficult one. He wanted to make sure he didn't upset her; he was simply curious.

She kept her head, though. In all truth, she'd put immense thought into that precise question, starting nearly from the time she found out she was pregnant. "I'm indecisive, but if I had to make the decision this moment, I'd opt to keep the baby. I know it's a lot of responsibility and all, but I certainly have the means to raise a child, and I really do love children. On the other hand, how can I expect to love and care for a child whose father I despise? The last thing I want to do is to raise a child out of resentment. Then there's the fame to think about. I don't want to bring up a child under direct siege of the damned media. I know what that feels like, and I'm not about to force that onto an innocent child…," she stopped speaking abruptly, realizing she was babbling. "Clearly," she said with finality, "I have a bit more thinking to do."

Snape nodded in agreement, and also in slight awe. He could not, for the life of him, put himself in her shoes without getting aggravated with the whole situation. How she'd gotten this far without a break down was beyond him, and still she showed no signs of becoming overwhelmed. Each one of the points she'd brought up required careful and lengthy consideration, and he marveled at her patience.

"This is, perhaps, a silly question, but you wish to attend University, correct?" he questioned, predicting the answer but wanting confirmation.

"I _will _go to University. I'd love to be accepted at the Universite de Paris over in France to study either Potions or Charms, but to attend that school I will have to study as an apprentice for a year prior in whichever subject I choose. I'd love to be a Potions Mistress, actually…I'd love to be able to research new procedures and findings, and either use my work to create strengthened variations of existing potions or even cures to spells like the Avada Kedavra—well, not cures…more like prevention. A potion one would take before hand if they suspected foul play…I've already got some notes on the latter...," she trailed off, an exuberant air lighting up her eyes.

Severus was slightly shocked, and immensely proud when he heard of her peaked interest in the art of Potions. He was also delighted to hear of her desire to attend the Universite de Paris, for it was the University he'd attended to acquire is Mastery in Potions. He, of course, knew of the necessities involved in the acceptance, so he knew of the required apprenticeship. He found, though, that as she informed him of her wishes and the need to study under a Master, she wasn't asking him in any way to study under him. He was sure he had occurred to her, when she'd first contemplated enrolling in the college, and he was just as sure that she'd dismissed him as an option, probably because she'd been sure he wouldn't accept. He'd never accepted an apprentice before, why start now? He was determined to break his mold, however. And a determined Severus Snape was better left undisturbed.

"Allow me to extend an offer to you, a proposal free of obligations of any sort. You mentioned that you may be interested in pursuing Potions, a noble quest I might add. If you so choose to follow through, I am sufficiently qualified to appoint you as an Apprentice. As I've made clear, you are not obliged to—simply forget it if you choose to study Charms, or even to study under a different Potions Master. Just know that the offer stands to study with me at Hogwarts when you're ready," he finished calmly, serenely, as if her answer was a smidgen of information that barely concerned him when it fact it concerned him very much.

Hermione, who'd taken a large sip of ice water at the start of Severus's little speech, had to put all her restraints into not spitting the water back out into his face. She choked on it slightly and covered her mouth with her hand to keep it from spilling, an act he did not notice though he was looking directly at her. She could tell that, though he strived for a nonchalance that was nearly impenetrable, he cared very much for her answer. His unconcern for her little episode showed how distracted with…_worry_ he was. It was one of the only moments in the whole seven years she'd known him that made her stop and truly study the man before her. To the naked, glancing eye, he was a man of noble stature with an air of confidence, even superiority about him. To one not searching for truth, he appeared to be a rather unkind, even cruel man with no concern for human emotions. But none of that was the case. It may have been because Severus wasn't determined to hide his emotions—(he can't have been a complete washout; he'd been a spy for years, right?)—or he may have been too distracted. Whatever the reasoning, Hermione witnessed in that moment what Severus Snape really was, what he really felt. He was a kindhearted man who only acted cruel as firstly a cover for spying, and secondly as a defense. He was a man that feared rejection, just like the next person. He was a man that had been lonely for so long. He was afraid of her rejecting his offer, even though he shrugged it off in a false vibrato. He was a man that, she could tell, cherished her company and wished to keep, even strengthen, the connection they'd built. She wondered what would classify them. She decided the closest would be "friends." The fact that he was willing to accept her as an Apprentice, when he'd never seen fit to do so for any other, was what pushed them past acquaintances and sent them whirling into comrades.

She realized, moments later, that he was growing ever more on edge waiting for her answer. "Oh, Professor—you have no idea how much I would appreciate that. Of course, of course; I accept your offer," she gushed, sounding slightly out of breath as her gratitude warmed him…comforted him. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Hermione. It'll be nice having a pair of competent hands around," he said, not all of his delight show through and yet not trying to conceal it.

They went on to discuss what her Apprenticeship would entail until their food arrived, a meal to which they tucked in nestled in a comfortable, _friendly _silence.

Upon their return (which was pushed back till around five o'clock because neither of them were willing to leave the book store they'd entered just after lunch), they combined their efforts and put the groceries away in record time. Afterwards, Hermione quickly retreated to her room (and by quickly, I clearly mean exceedingly slowly because who could honestly _find_ her room quickly?) to deposit the mobile phones she'd bought, only after having promised to explain the entire process at a later time to quench Snape's confusion.

Returning to the living room, she found Severus clearing away the furniture to create a space down the center.

At her questioning glance, Severus said, "Occlumency lessons, in my experience, can become quite heated depending on the skill of the student. Of course, my only experience in teaching Occlumency lies with Potter and I'm willing to bet my last galleon that you, or any one else, would have no problem exceeding his...less than extraordinary abilities. Nevertheless, we must take precaution. I'm also adding a layer of padding on the wooden floor, because I'll not be responsible for any…unexpected situations with your condition."

Ignoring his jibe at Harry, and feeling inexplicably amused at his subtle yet glaringly obvious reference to her pregnancy, Hermione set to work to mentally prepare herself. In truth, she'd forgotten about their lesson and she desperately wanted to uphold her reputation by learning quickly, as per status quo.

Severus turned and extracted his wand. Hermione stood opposite him, holding her wand loosely by her side. "Miss Granger, do not be discouraged if you do not succeed immediately. A task such as this takes months, even for a master. It took me two whole months before I could successfully block anything. You will not get it the first time—you don't know what to expect yet. So, relax, and try to close off your mind as best you can."

With that, he raised his wand, as Hermione braced herself, and he spoke clearly, "Legilimens."

Gently, at first, he probed her mind. She'd set up a lake—a placid, calm lake without a ripple on its surface. She concentrated hard on the lake, he could sense it. And yet it wasn't strong enough to hold. Taking a breath, he delved into her lake of memories. The texture was not quite water, easy to sift through—it was more like mud. That was an excellent sign for her first lesson. It meant that she was able to, somewhat, guard her recollections from him for the time being. Delving deeper, he was able to extort memories from the mud and as soon as he'd gathered enough, they flitted across his mind like film reels on a movie screen.

A beautiful little girl with wide brown eyes, and glossy dark hair sitting on a swing set, looking sadly to the floor—what a lonely child…

The same young girl on a stage overlooking thousands of people, at the tender age of no more than eight, singing a heart-wrenching ballad in Spanish—such talent, too.

An eleven year old girl with pale skin, bushy brown hair, but with similar wide brown eyes scanning the page of a tedious tome, on a train compartment all alone—very meticulous, she was.

The same bushy-haired girl speaking with a boy with glasses below a viscous scar and a boy whose hair seemed to be on fire…oh no, that was the color.

The girl with sleek, black hair and tanned skin chained to a pipe in a grungy basement with her shirt pushed up, her skirt pulled down, so that she was in merely a bra and panties, with her stomach sliced terrifyingly, lying in a pool of her own blood—a man stood over her, laughing openly, before swooping down and claiming her body…

**"NO!"**

Severus was snapped back to reality with combined efforts of her pushing him out, and him willingly retreating. He dropped his wand in sheer _shock_ at what he'd just seen. His eyes found Hermione, who had backed against the far wall. One hand covered her mouth to muffle the horrified cry that escaped, the other clutching her stomach as though she was about to be quite ill. Her wand lay forgotten a few feet ahead. She burst into tears and slid down the wall, her legs going numb.

Severus, silently cursing himself for finding the one memory that truly upset her, the one memory the two of them had momentarily not paid any mind to. _How could he have been so stupid? How couldn't the instance of the rape occur to him in the first place? He _knew_ he'd be rummaging through her pretty open memories. It wasn't exactly a hard memory to find. He could be so thick at times. He hadn't even considered it as a possibility; no, no, that wasn't right—he didn't give it enough thought to dispel its possibilities or not. Oh, the idiocy!_

He rushed to her side. She sat hunched on the floor, with her knees pulled to her chest. She too looked as though she was mentally berating herself, perhaps for not locking away the memories more securely. When Severus knelt down, he was quite unsure of how to comfort her—tearful females were never his strong point—but he needn't have feared. He reached out a hand awkwardly, and when she felt it around her shoulders, she didn't cringe away as though burned like he expected her too. She leaned into his embrace, the only comfort available, what with her friends back at Hogwarts and her parents in their flat in London. Severus shifted so that he was gently cradling her sobbing form, and any lingering unease disappeared. Desperately, she sought to squelch the flow of tears by rubbing her eyes. It worked. The tears stopped and she was able to control herself within five minutes of the start of her breakdown.

Severus was slightly surprised at the speed of her recovery when he felt the tremors cease to wrack her body. He could not have promised the same remarkable results if he'd been in her shoes. Merlin, he'd have a basket case all night…then an upsetting thought occurred to him—she'd probably had loads of practice. Suddenly, all Severus could see was the beautiful young girl in his arms, sobbing and crying in her lonely Head Girl's room with no comfort from anyone. Perhaps it was because her friends hadn't been told yet or even because they refused to speak with her during that pointless, immature argument they carried out. Whatever the reason, he could picture Hermione fighting with her torment all alone and it weighed down his heart to see.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered when he was sure the crying had stopped. "I'm so sorry, the…incident did not cross my mind until I saw it—what I mean is—"

She stopped his ramblings when she sighed. "I know you didn't mean it, of course you didn't. _I_ didn't even think of it, which is rather silly if you think about because isn't the point of these lessons to block the incident from prying eyes?" Again, she sighed. She sounded quite exhausted to him.

"Come, Hermione, I'll make us a pot of tea and then you can have a rest." He started to stand, but a small hand on his chest stopped him.

"No, let's not stop yet."

"But, Hermione—"

"How will I ever learn if I lose it with every painful memory? How will I ever be able to close my mind if we stop because I start to cry? I'm alright, Severus. The memories can't hurt anymore, they've taken all they can. Let's give it another go, ok?"

He was about to protest again, to tell her how irresponsible it would be to continue and perhaps worsen the blow to her visibly fragile emotional block. But he looked down and was met by heart melting, slightly watery chocolate eyes that pleaded him to see reason and instantly he obeyed. He realized she was right—he wouldn't let another student off because they succumbed to tears. Hermione should be no different.

They assumed the same positions as before. Snape raised his wand. "Legilimens."

Hermione was ready for him. He was greeted by the same placid, stone still lake. Delving into the center, he was met once again by a murky, muddy substance rather than water. Albeit it was a bit thicker than last time—she was certainly improving. He was still able to gather memories, however, and again they whirled through his vision.

A young girl with olive-toned skin and sleek, black hair played in lush, green grass with a tiny black kitten, giggling merrily—she was adorable when she laughed…

The same girl sitting at a table in what appeared to be a grand hall as she signed photos of herself for the black haired, bespectacled boy and the boy with the fiery head—she was older now…

The girl with bushy brown hair piled on top of her head, but pretty brown eyes, sat at a table in the of the same grand hall with the same two boys, eating breakfast—a good actress, too…

The girl with black hair and tanned skin lay very nearly unconscious in only her red bra and matching lace panties as the same man did sexually obscene things to her, seemingly without her knowledge—how disgusting…

Again, Severus felt himself being pushed out of her head. When he came back to reality, his eyes snapped to Hermione. Her hand clutched her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She looked like she was either seething or shocked—he half expected her burst into tears all over again. But she shook her head and stood her ground, and said "Go again, then."

Smothering the smile that threatened to show at her pluck (he'd always appreciated a healthy supply of pluck), Severus raised his wand once again. They tried twice more before Hermione was literally drooping with fatigue. Severus brewed up a quick pot of tea and handed her a candy bar, which he found really _did_ boost the spirits, he sent her off to bed. He watched her walk gracefully up the stairs, at the top of which she turned and waved slightly. He imitated the gesture, and sat staring at the corner she'd disappeared around for nearly an hour afterwards. He was tired, and wanted to go to bed—but he simply couldn't get the image of a beautiful Spanish girl, wearing only a bra and panties, out of his head. He had to admit that he was turned on by the image, but only that image. As soon as that damned Krum came into the picture, anger coursed through his veins. But it was easy to think of Hermione in those same bra and panties in a _different_ situation…

Immediately, he shook his head of impure thoughts and rose to go to his bedroom. Settling beneath the covers of his King sized bed, he knew there was only one thing he'd dream about tonight…


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** I know this is short but its a chapter about their feelings. I hope it doesn't bore you--its necessary because I need a transition from teacher and student to more than that. I'll update hopefully tomorrow so just read this and tomorrow's will be full of good stuff. And please review! I only got like four reviews last time and it made me sad. I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! You add the story to alert but never review. Please please please review. Thank you!

A few weeks passed, and two aspects of Severus's and Hermione's lives grew.

The first was Hermione's waistline. It was about time, too, seeing as she was now nearing her fourth month of pregnancy. Most women at this stage of pregnancy would be showing much more than Hermione did, however. Hermione's stomach, where it once was completely flat, was a bit distended, an expansion that could have been considered normal on a more curvaceous woman, but not on someone as fit as Hermione. She grew embarrassed by the steady growth, trying vainly to shield it from prying eyes—the world still did not know of Carmen Riviera's pregnancy, it would certainly come as a shock when they did—and though she managed to hide it from the rest of the world, Severus saw right through it. She expected him to find her less attractive, as many men unfortunately thought of pregnant women. He surprised her though; it seemed as though he was stock full of surprises. He would poke her belly playfully as he passed, an action that made her laugh and relieved some of the self consciousness that normally suffocated her. When she complained that soon she'd start to "look like a beached whale", he would dismiss the notion as ridiculous and say that he found "nothing wrong with a healthy pregnant belly." He never looked the slightest bit disgusted, as she expected him to. He always looked at her these days with fondness showering off of him, even when he looked at her defined pregnancy. She felt completely at ease with him. When she was in his company, she rarely worried about how big she was getting or how gross she may look to him. They were always too involved in their discussions, which were always wrought with intellect. They could willingly sit and talk for hours, which brings us to number two.

Along with Hermione pregnancy grew a strong, undeniable sexual tension. Ever since their first Occlumency lesson where the vision of Hermione half-naked first implanted itself in Snape's head, he could not stop thinking about her. Not only her beauty, which she was not lacking in despite the pregnancy, but her intelligence and her kindness and her affinity for Potions—everything about her.

He loved the fact that even though she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, she still became incredibly self conscious. He admired that her outer shell never clouded her judgment—her ego was perhaps even smaller than those of people with incredibly less pleasing outer appearances. He loved that the thirst for knowledge gave her a drive that was similar to his own. He enjoyed just sitting with her in the library for hours on end, pouring over factious books and debating this theory or that theory. He loved hearing her opinions on any subject. He reveled in simply asking for her input on a potion he was working on and watching her beautiful eyes light up. His heart would pound whenever she was near. He would bubble with affection whenever he saw her acting on her habit of tucking a lock of hair behind her ear because it interfered with her work. He loved that they were able to sit in a comfortable silence without an ounce of awkwardness, and also just the opposite—that they could talk and discuss _anything_ into the wee hours of the night. He loved watching her face wrapped in its natural appearance of wide-eyed innocence and pure wonder whenever he took her out into the garden out back. He loved that the natural beauty of flowers and the sunset amazed her, when they would only have bored every other person he knew.

He loved to watch her just sit by the fountain in the garden and follow a butterfly's journey with her eyes, or to watch her brush Artemis's mane. Artemis was his favorite horse, his very best friend growing up. And in a way, he often pondered, Artemis and Hermione were so similar. Both had hair the color of the night sky. Both had eyes the color of the purest chocolate, with a gorgeous twinkle in the centers. Both exuded wisdom through said eyes and both thrived and trampled on stereotypes that were forced on them. Hermione showed the entire Wizarding World that Muggleborns were not a breed of simple-minded magic-moochers but could in face be the most intelligent of the Wizarding kind. She showed the world that Muggleborns deserved to attend Hogwarts just as much, if not more than, the arrogant, self righteous purebloods.

Artemis, too, broke free of orthodox binds. She was a sickly horse at a young age and every veterinarian the Snape's spoke to said she would never live to adulthood. Severus's parents made the decision to put the mare down, and only held off on account of their son's fervent arguing. Severus was correct when he told his parents to give the horse a chance. She grew into a perfectly healthy, beautiful horse and because of his involvement in her continued living, Severus felt an immense bond with the horse.

Severus was not the only one who could feel the sexual tension in the house. Hermione found herself growing to like her professor more and more with each passing minute. He'd put her so much at ease about her expanding waistline that she forgot about it entirely when in his presence. She too loved their discussions and conversations because they were the first decent ones she'd really ever had. She, of course, loved her friends, but their continuous chats about Quidditch and other trivial things really bored Hermione when what she longed for was long drawn out tête-à-têtes about worldly concepts: Potions, theories, new inventions, anything other than the traditional teenage topics. He provided her with an intellectual equal, which she'd long been deprived of. She loved how powerful his walk was. She loved how unconventionally handsome he was. She loved how irresistibly silky his deep voice was. But what she loved most of all was he knew nothing of his immense sexual appeal. He knew not of how attracted to him she was. He did not know how his lean, muscular frame weakened her knees whenever he was near. He did not know of how alluring his coal black eyes were when they penetrated you and held you captive. He did not even know of how his smooth baritone melted her insides so that she felt like she was made of jelly whenever he spoke. They were both falling for each other—falling hard—and neither of them knew of the others' feelings.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: **I'm getting fast, eh? I like this chapter, it was fun to write so I hope it's as fun to read. Please, any type of review is appreciated. They make my day.

"You're saying you don't agree with the legality of Love Potions?" Severus inquired.

"That's right. I think they are manipulative and unjust. Think about it: we're talking about a potion that forces upon the drinker a temporarily insatiable infatuation. Its embarrassing—its only point is to compel a person against their will to express declarations of a fabled love."

Severus pondered her speech for a long moment before his furrowed brow relaxed and his pursed lips slipped into a smile. "Brilliance," he uttered, applauding her teasingly, laughing when she smacked his arm. "Really, though, that is a fantastic approach to the subject. If it's displayed like that, the Ministry would be hard pressed to dispel it."

Hermione found extreme comfort in his compliment and settled back in her armchair, reveling in her triumph.

They'd been debating for nearly two hours, starting at the dinner table and ending in the library. Their debates usually ended with an unclear winner, but Hermione was pleased to take the cake.

"What do you say we do something a little different tonight? We bought that new fangled feletision—"

"Television."

"—last week and have yet to watch that vilm—"

"Film."

"—you wanted to buy," Severus finished, taking no notice of Hermione's corrections. She laughed at his immaturity but nodded, and took the hand offered to help her up.

She popped in the film as Severus prepared the popcorn and poured the drinks. The movie, "Sense and Sensibility" was technically a "chick flick" but it was also a classic. Somehow, she knew Severus would like it. A man with possession of any wit would enjoy the Jane Austin film, even if it was a little feminine.

The film started and Hermione found it increasingly difficult to pay attention. They were sitting so closely that his unique aroma of various herbs and spices was enwrapping her senses. He too had to keep reminding himself to watch the film, for his eyes kept wandering towards his companion. He could easily have kissed her right there and then but kept stopping himself. What in the world made him think she wanted to kiss him? He, the lonely old Bad from the Dungeons? The nerve of him to think of such things. Italy was spoiling him.

What he didn't know was how badly she wanted to kiss him back. She felt his eyes on her every so often, so it was clear he was finding it difficult to concentrate as well. Finally, she caught and captured his gaze. Once they'd made eye contact, it was near impossible to look away.

In his gaze, she found a combination of nerves and a powerful wave of affection, which warmed her heart. In her eyes he found a similar affection and a certain joy that can only be caused by the heat of a new relationship.

Relationship? What _was_ their relationship? Severus was certain they'd moved past the standard teacher-student affiliation they'd once had. They were certainly friends, and Severus usually didn't permit himself to think they could ever be any more—he was a man of thick, impenetrable layers but rejection would surely break him. Now, however, as he peered into her chocolate eyes, he found himself contemplating the very thing his mind ran away from—could they be more than friends? Were they already? If they were, how much more? The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her by doing something rash, but…oh, how he wanted to just kiss her…

His head lowered slightly towards her, and she took it upon herself close the remaining space between them. Their lips met and it was as if time stood still. Slowly, Hermione closed her eyes as the kiss deepened. Tentatively, her tongue lasted his bottom lip, to which he groaned lightly. He opened his mouth a bit more and her tongue was eagerly met by his. It was only when the kiss deepened even more that Severus, firmly against his will, broke it off.

Hermione opened her eyes, completely unsurprised. She had known that he'd break it off eventually. Severus was many things, but he wasn't by any means a pervert. He'd see it as taking advantage of a student, when it wasn't that at all. She kissed him back didn't she? But he would be blind to her participation.

He didn't disappoint.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I know you must be vulnerable after the…you know, and it must seem like I'm taking advantage of you. I never meant to—"

"Severus, it's ok."

"No, really—"

"Severus!" He stopped muttering and looked at her, more apologies threatening to spill out his mouth. "I kissed you back, didn't I? Believe me, if I didn't want you to kiss me, you'd have been blasted across the room already."

He chuckled lightly at the last bit, and looked hard into her eyes, only to find that she was telling the truth.

"But…you're my student, it wouldn't be right."

"I don't think many people expect us to keep up a student-teacher relationship after living together for nearly a month. They may not expect romance," Snape's heart leaped slightly as she said the word, "they probably think we'll be more like…friends, perhaps? But, I've never seen reason in abiding expectations."

Her eyes gleamed mischievously with the last statement. Snape's breath hitched when he realized what she was saying; she wanted him. She wanted him, even if just to frustrate people. She wanted him, perhaps just as much as he'd been longing for her. Oh, happy day! He could've giggled, but restrained himself with difficulty. He no longer need fear rejection—a drop-dead gorgeous, famous pop-star who just happened to have a wit and brains that matched her beauty. Everything he could have asked for, tied up in a pretty little Spanish package.

With hesitation, he claimed her mouth again and didn't break off until they were both gasping for air.

"We'll take this slow," Severus said, wrapping his arm around Hermione's waist and pulling her closer. "The last thing I want to do is frighten you off—swear you off men. I've been known to do that, actually."

She laughed and rested her head against his shoulder. "I agree. Slow is good."

He kissed the top of her head and settled back into the couch. The movie ended moments later, without either of them having fully watched a second of it. Severus walked Hermione to her bedroom, kissed her goodnight on the cheek, and swept of to his own bedroom, leaving her starring in his wake.

She woke the next day with butterflies in her stomach inexplicably, and yet feeling a wave of warm joy flood her body. Her dream had been marvelous. She was standing in the Potions classroom, brewing Potions for him like she used to when he snuck up and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck tenderly. In her dream, there was no baby bump in the way either. She sighed. She really needed to stop harping about the baby—it wasn't like she could change anything now.

Still quite pleased, she dressed quickly in a vintage "Beetles" t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and red Converse sneakers to match the stripe of red in her top. Very alternative rock.

She combed her hair slightly, and it shone like twinkling stars in the night sky. Then she once again made her way to the kitchen. Severus was already seated at the table, his face hidden behind a newspaper as he absentmindedly shoveled food into his mouth.

She grabbed a bit of toast and asked, "Anything interesting?"

He shook his head. Then, realizing she couldn't _see _his head, he lowered the paper and said, "Not in the least. The raging war is apparently not as news worthy as whether or not Harry Potter as a birthmark on his left buttocks."

He cast the paper aside and resumed his breakfast. "Today I thought we'd start with Occlumency, and then broach your other subjects. I think the slight difficulty we've been having is fatigue, and if I teach you first thing in the morning, fatigue shan't be a problem."

She nodded slowly and reached for the jug of pumpkin juice to her right. Just as she reached it, Severus gasped in pain and clutched his left forearm.

"Severus?" She questioned, her face wrought with concern.

He growled deeply. The pain was, of course, the Dark Lord calling him to his side. Of all the luck…

"I must go. You know the drill by now. I'll be back in, hopefully, a few hours." He got up, retrieved his robe and mask from under his bed, and reentered the kitchen momentarily.

She looked up in surprise when he came back. He'd been called three or four times during her stay and he always left within moments of the call. At her questioning look, he muttered, "I forgot something."

He swooped down and lightly pressed his lips to hers. She smiled against his face and leaned into the kiss. They broke apart, and the fear in her eyes tore his heart. "Severus, be careful."

He brushed her hair back with one hand. "As careful as I can be, love. As careful as I can be."


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Thanks for the amazing reviews for the last chapter, they made my day. Really. Repeat for this chapter?? Here's to hoping!**

A cool sea breeze washed over him as he reached the point of Apparation. Odd. They usually met in abandoned old buildings or ally ways. A beach? That was unheard of.

Severus listened closely for clue as to the Dark Lord's location, and trekked down the shore when he heard feeble mutterings and simple-minded pleasantries being exchanged by his 'brothers'. His feet sank through the dry sand with every step, and his nostrils were attacked by the rancid smell of fish and seaweed. Not a very nice beach, clearly…

By the time he'd reached the circle of Death Eaters, centered around the Dark Lord himself, he'd coerced his well trained Occlumency shield into place. Any who wished to penetrate his mind would meet a solid stone wall without a crack in sight. It was indestructible, _imperishable_ to even the most feared of all wizards.

Speak of the devil…

"My friends," said a voice that was both a whisper and a strong vibrato, "I welcome you back."

The robed creature on center stage stood now before them like a preacher to his clergy and spread his arms in greeting. The gesture was friendly, and yet fiendishly frightening, for there was no real kindness in the façade. None at all. You could tell simply by taking a good, long look into the Dark Lord's hard face. The face that was white as snow, the face that housed eyes like a snake and no nose to speak of; a face that constantly looked so menacing, so _malicious_ that few even dared to look at all. Severus, however, met the Dark Lord's cold gaze with an expression of a man that could have very well been enjoying a pleasant scenery. Voldemort admired Severus's guts, though. He was not lacking in bravery, that much was certain.

"I'm sure you're all curious," said the strong, whispering voice, "as to the peculiar meeting place. It seems that the buildings we've occupied previously were less abandoned than we'd perceived. Punishments were handed out, of course, and we needn't fear any sudden detection. But it is wise to seclude our meetings as best we can from here on out."

He breathed in a rich sigh through that nonexistent nose, still trying and failing to look friendly. "Now, down to business. A catastrophic revelation as recently been presented to me," he murmured, his unpleasant smile disappearing as his eyes flew to the quivering form of Viktor Krum.

Uh-oh.

"It has been brought to my attention that one of our own has been fooling around with a certain female playmate of Harry Potter." There was no need to say which Death Eater—Krum had been bragging half way to China about "shagging the pop star".

Oh, Merlin.

"As you know, that in itself is not of much importance. The catastrophic part is what _came _from our brother's…frivolous tendencies." The Dark Lord sighed, as though giving a lecture he'd uttered too many times before. "Let this be a lesson to all who strike up the urge: _kill_ the whore once the deed is done."

Severus's grip tightened around his wand until his knuckles were white. Whore, huh? If Hermione Granger was a whore, then Voldemort was the next Gondi.

"Harry Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger or Carmen Riviera if you prefer, is now approximately four and a half months pregnant with the child of a Death Eater, and you all know how I _dearly _frown upon mating with," his face screwed up in disgust, "Mudbloods."

"How do you know she's with child?" Severus burst, a tad too defensively.

In a second, he was flat on his back, his bones burning beneath as skin as he writhed under the agony of the Cruciatas curse.

"Severus, you know better than to speak to me with impertinence," Voldemort scolded mildly, as though telling a child off for eating cookies before dinner.

"My apologies…my Lord," Severus hissed through his teeth, panting as he returned to a standing position with difficulty.

"Suffice it to say I've been informed by a reliable source, and let it be. As I was saying, the little chit is knocked up and we must now put an end to it. We invade Hogwarts in two weeks time—sufficient time to accomplish necessary preparation."

Good, good; he thought she was still at Hogwarts. That bought them some time…

"I would rule out Hogwarts if I were you, my Lord," said a cold, drawling voice to Severus's immediate right. Severus's eyes snapped to the man's face as he fought the urge to curse his old 'friend.'

Luscius Malfoy stood, proud as a man with a buried treasure and twice as cocky, with a smile that turned Severus's stomach. Voldemort whirled around to face Luscius and eyed him, visibly trying to search the man's mind.

"What do you mean, Luscius?"

Luscius clearly reveled in having information the Dark Lord did not. It did not happen often. "What I mean, my Lord, is that the girl disappeared months ago. Draco had been keeping a keen eye on her ever since she revealed her true identity—understandably, too. She is quite the bombshell, eh?"

A few of the other Death Eater's chuckled. Voldemort did not look so amused. "Disappeared? How can that be?"

Again, Luscius's goading smirk fed Severus's need to strike him. He said, "Why, isn't it obvious? Clearly, she is on the run now. She knows we'll be after her and she's hiding Merlin knows where. Can't tell you how she found out, though. Even _that_ one is above me."

Voldemort ran a hand over his bald head as one would rake a hand through a full head of hair. His glare burnt into Luscius's self-righteous attitude. "And you thought it wise to keep this information from me, did you? You thought it wise to detain it until such time that it would prove most beneficial for you."

Luscius's grin faltered, and finally disappeared as fear wrung out his face. "No—no, no, how could I? How was I to know that the information would prove useful? My Lord, be reasonable—"

"I am _always_ reasonable!" the Dark Lord stormed.

Immediately, Luscius collapsed in a convulsing heap in the sand. Only after five bouts of the Cruciatas, when he could surely no longer stand, did the Dark Lord cease his attack. Instead, his ferocious glare turned on Severus.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true? That Luscius withheld information—"

"Don't be foolish, Severus! Is it true that the girl left the wretched school?"

Severus silently damned Luscius from here to hell. How was he supposed to lie now? "I suppose it is—I mean, I've noticed her absence in my class over the past few months. Other than class, however, we do not interact. It never struck me as pertinent."

To further ensure Severus's utter hatred of the man, he was sure, Luscius spoke up from his weak position on the ground. "No…" he croaked, "no, my Lord, he's lying."

Merlin, why?

Voldemort snapped to attention. "_What?_"

"Draco…said…he said that Snape...that Snape disappeared right around…the time that…she did. Said they were…probably running…off together."

Severus put every ounce of his strength into perfecting his mental stone wall as he felt Voldemort's sharp, painful penetrations.

"Is that true as well, Severus?" he asked finally, his gaze turning hateful and vengeful. "Have you betrayed me? Are you protecting her, Severus? Are you? Have you forgotten that I know where you live? Foolish, foolish man!"

In the span of three seconds, Severus came to the conclusion that there was absolutely no way on earth he'd be able to repair the damage Luscius had just caused. With that conclusion came the pressing need to depart…but not without a few parting words.

"Yes, I've betrayed you. I've been betraying you ever since I _joined_ you, you dimwit! I'm Dumbledore's man, and I always will be. You will never harm the girl, Tom. Never. I will die first."

"Count on that!" Voldemort shouted as he swished his wand, but in the same second, Severus spun on the spot.

A most curious phenomenon occurred. The Avada Kedavra brushed his naval just as he was exiting and he immediately felt sick to his stomach. The feeling had spread throughout his entire body by the time he'd arrived in Italy. It seemed that instead of killing him immediately as intended, it would kill him slowly and, obviously, painfully…

He had just enough time to see Hermione poke her head out the door, the smile on her face giving way to horror as she took in the sight of him, before his world went black.

**CLIFF HANGER! Hahah. **


	23. Chapter 23

"Severus!"

As quickly as her growing belly would allow, Hermione raced down the stone pathway and knelt by his side. Frantically, she tore off his shirt, searching for any surface wounds that would explain his condition. What she found both shocked and scared her, for one always fears the unknown.

At first glance, she was confronted by what appeared to be a bruise—a circular band, black and blue in color, surrounding his navel. The term "bruise" was ruled out, however, when she discovered that the hue was slowly, but steadily, growing outwards, covering more of his stomach with each moment. Warily, she gently traced a finger along the discoloring and found that it was cool to the touch. She couldn't tell if that was good or bad.

She blanched. What to do, what to do?! How could she treat a wound that was so foreign to her? What _was_ this foul lesion and what was it doing to him? Was he in pain? Poor Severus, lying unconscious, probably for trying to save _her_. Her mind raced. What if he died? What if he died, all because he was trying to protect her? _Oh, dear Merlin, don't let him die_, she thought. _I'd never forgive myself_.

Her thoughts were halted when she felt a hand touch hers, which still rested on the wound. Her eyes snapped down to see him clutching her hand, wincing at the pain that even the slight weight caused. Immediately, she moved their connected hands so that they lay on his chest. Then she took a long look at him, waiting for another movement.

His normally pale face was white as a sheet. He was gulping his breaths, as though he could not get enough air, and a single lock of hair stood out of place, hanging into his left eye in a way that was surely irritating if he were aware of such subtle things. Tenderly, she tucked the lock away, and rested, her hand on his sallow cheek.

"Severus…Severus, please, tell me how to help you," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. Please, ye Gods, don't let him die!

His eyes fluttered open, and his unoccupied hand covered hers on his face—it was as though _he _was comforting _her_. "Hermione…in my lab…third shelf, far left…crystal vial, green potion…hurry, Hermione."

As soon as the words left his mouth, she had him levitated and halfway to the door. Once inside, she ever so carefully laid him on the sofa before stumbling blindly up the stairs in haste. Cursing for the umpteenth time the distance of the second floor, she finally reached the lab. This is where she met her dilemma.

Three green vials sat before her, all varying in shades. He never specified. Aargh, which to take?! Muttering under her breath, she collected all three and, as quickly as humanly possible, was back at his side.

In the few minutes that she'd been gone, the wound had spread to cover his entire stomach, remaining in precariously close proximity to his heart now. Something told her that she needed to stop the wound before it reached it.

She turned his nearly unconscious face towards her, giving his body a good shake to stir him. Now was no time for gentility.

"Severus. Severus!"

His eyes opened to a slit.

"Severus, which vial? I've got three, I didn't know…"

He surveyed the vials weakly, before pointing to the one in her left hand. "That one…I think…"

"You _think_? Dear, Merlin…"

Deciding that she'd try it and pray for the best, she lifted the vial to his lips and waited for him to down it. His eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing slowed.

Exhausted, Hermione collapsed into an armchair next to him, so that she could remain near to him to survey his recovery. _Or death_, she thought miserably but pushed that thought firmly from her mind. And now, she would wait.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours.

Her eyes so desperately wished to close. It was now well past one in the morning, and she'd been awake for entirely too long. She wouldn't allow sleep, though. What if she slept and something happened to him? What if her slumber assisted his death? No, sleep was not allowed.

She shifted in her chair to an uncomfortable position to ensure her wakefulness when she heard it.

"Essie…"

It was the voice of a little boy. Or, more accurately, a grown man imitating a little boy.

All thoughts of sleep forgotten, Hermione sat up bolt right and stared at Severus. His face was twisted in discomfort. He spoke again in the voice of a small boy in pain.

"Essie, my tummy hurts…" As if to emphasize, he clutched his belly firmly. He clearly _was _in pain.

"Severus, my name isn't Essie…it's Hermione. Why are you calling me Essie?" She spoke slowly, clearly, not wanting to frighten him, but she couldn't keep the concern out of her voice.

Now his face screwed up in confusion. "No, your name is Essie. Stop fooling around, I know my own sister's name." His voice was laced with the pain he was surely feeling. He opened his eyes and looked in her direction, but she detected immediately that he couldn't see her. She sighed in understanding. He was hallucinating. She only prayed to God that it was one of the side-effects of the potion.

"Essie," he spoke again, "Essie, please, my tummy…really hurts…" His grasp tightened as he whimpered pathetically.

It pained her to see him like this, in so much pain. "What would you like me to do, Severus? Just tell me what to do."

His expression was that of pleading, his glazed-over eyes welling with tears. "Would you…would you rub it, Essie? Like Mummy used to do? You know," he said, his voice growing very quiet, "whenever Daddy used to hit me…when he got angry with me…when he whipped me with the belt…it helped a lot, Essie, please?"

"Of _course_ I will, Severus," she said. She, of course, had no idea what he was talking about but chose not to pry into it; it wouldn't be helpful in the least, and she'd have done anything to help him at that point, even if it meant squelching her undying curiosity.

His expression cleared slightly with her promise, but the tears remained. Oh, how much pain he must be in.

She lifted from her chair and covered the short distance to the couch quickly enough, but in the time it took her to walk, the tears had started to stream down his face.

"Oh, Severus, don't cry…" Hermione whispered in a voice that she hoped held comfort instead of the intense disconcertion she felt. Severus Snape crying? It was a sight she'd never wanted to encounter. It was like saying Albus Dumbledore was in tandem with the Dark Lord. It didn't happen.

"Sorry, Essie…it just…it _hurts_," he whispered through his tears, and then groaned pitifully.

Instead of responding, for she could think of nothing to say, she sat gingerly on the edge of the couch. He scooted over to give her more room, but his hands still grasped his aching belly and try as she might, she couldn't remove them.

"Severus, it's alright, let go…"

"Don't hurt me, Essie, please…not like Daddy." His voice was more of a plea than a demand and the request tore her heart.

"I'd never hurt you, Severus," she whispered back.

He nodded slightly, sniffled a little, and finally unclasped his hands and laid one by his side. The other found Hermione's hand and grasped it tightly. She returned the pressure.

She took a good look at the wound. It could have been the dim lighting, or her fervent hopes causing _her_ to hallucinate, but the black coloring looked slightly faded.

After several moments, Severus whimpered, "Essie…my tummy…_please…"_

"Oh, right. Sorry, Severus," she whispered, having gotten lost in her examination. As gently as humanly possible, she placed her hand on his belly and rubbed it in steady circles.

Slowly, he calmed and the tears dwindled. The cold temperature of his stomach sent shivers through her body, but she didn't stop until his eyelids drooped and his grasp on her hand loosened. When she was absolutely positive that he was asleep, she extracted herself from the couch and took her place at the armchair again.

She'd just settled into the cushions when, in a blur of fast movements, Severus was on his feet, looking murderous.

Oh, boy.

"Severus? What is it?" Hermione asked, understanding that this was an entirely different hallucination.

His unfocused eyes swung in her direction. "SEVERUS? Don't you DARE call me by the name of your insignificant, socially challenged INGRATE!"

_This must be Daddy Snape_, Hermione thought with a shudder. Suddenly, she pitied Severus so much more as the man before her picked up a chair and threw it against a wall, watching with satisfaction as the wood splintered on impact. _If this is what his father was like, it's a wonder he's able to function without horrific child-hood flashbacks._

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note: I know Snape doesn't really have a sister, but in this story he does. Next chapter you'll get to see how awful Daddy Snape really was. Review!!**


	24. Chapter 24

Immediately, she could tell that he was still in pain. Different hallucination, same ache. It didn't quite seem fair.

Clearly, the effort it took to throw the wooden chair against the wall was to much for him to handle in his current vulnerability, and his hands flew to his belly as though he was about to be physically ill.

Hermione was at his side in an instant and in her haste, she'd forgotten who Severus was currently hallucinating himself to be. Mindlessly, she spoke his name. "Severus, are you all—"

Before she could even finish her sentence, she was stumbling away from him slightly due to the sheer force of Severus's backhand. Clutching her cheek in indignation and outright pain, she straightened up and stared at him.

He glared back furiously with those glazed-over eyes of his. One hand still clutching his stomach, he pointed a finger at her dangerously. "Have I not made myself clear? You will call me Tobias as you've always done!" He kicked a side table away from him in aggravation. "And furthermore, _Eileen,_" he spoke the name as though it left a sour taste in his mouth, "I don't need you rushing to my side after every damned move I make!"

In mid-speech, he slowly advanced on her now cowering form and for the first time, felt a sharp fear cause her blood to run cold. She crawled away from him on all fours until she could go no further, and then swung back around to face him. An arm encircled her belly protectively, shielding it from any harm.

"I am PERFECTLY able to take care of myself," he continued. "You will be called when I wish for you to do your chores, you KNOW this. Otherwise, you are to stay in your room beneath the stairs." With disgust written on his face, and his unseeing eyes, he raked over quivering form. Growling, he swooped down and made as though to grab her.

Releasing a shriek, she dodged him, but couldn't escape fast enough. "Where's the fire, Eileen?" he spat, twisting her around to face him. She whimpered and he struck her across the other cheek. This time, she crumpled to the floor.

As she once again crawled away, he kicked out blindly, aiming for whatever bit of her he could harm.

He struck gold.

His boot made contact with the left side of her stomach, and she cried out in pain and terror. The force was not enough to injure a fully healthy, normal person but it was certainly enough to do a number on a pregnant woman. Her mind went blank. She no longer thought of her own safety, or even of Severus's. Only one phrase repeated in her head, over and over and over again: _the baby is hurt, the baby is hurt, the baby is hurt…_

She clutched where he'd kicked her, feeling all too clearly a sharp pain pulsing from it. Blind to the sudden display, Severus bent once more and caught her by her arm, hauling her up and trapping her in front of him.

"Where _is_ that damned boy of yours, Eileen?" He shook her when she didn't respond. "What? Hiding him, are you? Hiding a son from his own FATHER?"

That was it. Reminding herself firmly that Severus was still inside this furious, violent man, while reluctantly restraining the urge to kick him in she groin, she knew she had to try to snap him out of it.

"Severus…Severus, stop this. Stop it, this isn't you! Your name is _not_ Tobias, and mine isn't Eileen! I'm Hermione, Severus, remember? You got hurt at the meeting. You're hallucinating! Severus, stop now before you do something you'll regret." She fought back a sob when she realized he already may have done something he would regret—the pain in her belly flared as a reminder.

Slowly, the fury on his face melted into a blank mask. His grip on her let up ever so slightly.

"Yes, Severus, come back. Remember where we are? We're in Italy." She vainly tried to disguise the panic in her voice. "We're in Italy at your mansion. Remember? You've been teaching me…Occlumency, the whole lot…"

She was rambling now, picking up on every aspect of their lives together that might help him come back.

Success.

He shook his head slightly and let her go entirely. His own hands crept back to cover his wound, no doubt fighting the residual bouts of nausea. His glazed-over eyes cleared and focused on her, confusion pouring through. "Hermione?"

She let out a sigh of relief, only to have her breath hitch when the burning in her side roared again.

He first caught sight of the hand prints on both of her cheeks, and the confusion intensified. Then his eyes wandered down to see her hands clutching the side of her belly and the confusion was joined by fear. "Hermione, are you alright? What happened?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering what to say. She couldn't very well tell him that he'd not only hit her, but also very possibly endangered the life of her unborn child. He would never forgive himself.

She needn't have worried about telling him, however. Her moment of hesitation had prompted him to take matters into his own hands.

"Legilimens," he whispered fearfully.

Immediately, images of the night flooded her mind. She saw Severus curled on the couch, wrought with pain. She saw herself rubbing his stomach at his request. She saw him pick up a wooden chair and chuck it. She saw him slap her.

And she saw him kick her pregnant belly.

Severus withdrew from her mind in an instant, and suddenly felt sick for an entirely new reason. Fear, sorrow, regret, self-hatred…each emotion was palpable in the air in that very moment. She looked at him through locks of her disheveled hair, her tears still coming full-force, and it was too much. She collapsed into the armchair she'd occupied earlier and struggled to think of something, anything, to remedy the pain in her side.

Severus was beside her immediately, brushing the hair out of her face and wiping her eyes. His expression was a struggle between self-hatred and sorrow.

"Hermione, I cannot tell you how sorry I am…I had _no _control, I didn't know what I was doing…Hermione—"

She grasped his hand at her cheek. "Of course you didn't mean it, I know that. I _know _that you're sorry, but you shouldn't be. It's alright, Severus. I'm not upset."

She had more to say, but the pain in her side intensified and she gasped, clutching at it. Immediately, Severus face melted from sorrow into terror. He realized that he hadn't understood fully before. He hadn't understood the impact of what he'd, albeit unconsciously, done. His eyes flew to where he'd kicked her.

"Wait, Hermione…it still _hurts? _Dear, Merlin, I thought it was just a close call…I didn't think I did any damage…oh, my—"

Hermione looked at him, and the horror in his eyes was hard to take. All she could do was nod, as her tears continued to flow.

"Yes…yes, it still hurts…"

He removed her hands from the injury and lifted her red sweater away from it to get a better look. Her belly looked like a tiny brown half circle, only slightly bigger than what would have been considered the norm for a girl with a more ample build. It wasn't quite as big as he'd expected it to be, which worried him slightly. He made a mental note to make sure she was eating properly and not rushing about like she usually would if the circumstances were different.

Focusing on the dilemma at hand, he searched for any visible sign of injury.

And found it.

There was an imprint the size of a fist, but shaped differently, on the arc of the left side of her stomach. For the 50th time since he'd woken, he cursed himself into the next millennium. Lightly, he placed his hand over it, only to hear her breath hitch in pain.

"Sorry," he said.

"Wasn't you," she mumbled.

Nodding, he replaced his hand over the mark and wracked his brain, thinking of anything that could help the pain without harming the child further.

He failed.

He sighed heavily, wearily. "Do you think your stomach can handle anything to eat? Something light, even. A spot of toast?"

She hissed again, and shook her head. He nodded, expecting as much, and muttered, "I'll be right back, love."

Moments later, he returned with a steaming mug in his hand.

"What is it?" she said, taking it from him and reveling in the warmth it spread to her chilly hands.

"Green tea, two spoonfuls of honey. It's the only thing I can think of to give you that won't harm the baby…further," he added, hating himself even more.

She simply nodded. What else could she do? She'd drawn a blank, too. She drew a sip from the mug, and it warmed her thoroughly.

She'd finished the tea within moments, and Severus took the cup, resting it on the side table he'd previously kicked over. Then, he picked Hermione up, which was easier than it probably ought to have been, and replaced her on the bigger, more comfortable sofa. He was about to take her place on the armchair, for he was sure he was the _last_ person she wanted near her at the moment when he felt a light tug at his sleeve. He turned to look at her at the same time that she pulled him closer. Sighing, and marveling that she was able to stand the sight of him after what he'd done, he obliged her and took a seat. He wrapped his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest. He placed his hand over her injury and rubbed it comfortingly.

"When's the last time the baby kicked?" he questioned.

He felt her shrug. "A while ago."

"Tell me, won't you…as soon as it does?"

She nodded and snuggled closer into him. He kissed the top of her head lovingly, settled back into the couch, and waited.

Waited for a miracle.

**Author's Note: I know, I know, another sad one. Sorry if you're getting sick of that. But it'll get better next chapter, no worries. **


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: Okay, I've been getting a lot of corrections regarding Snape's past, and have decided to confront you all at once. I've made changes for the purpose of this story. I thought that would be clear, but apparently not. So now you know. Enjoy!**

Hermione traced the planes of his bare, muscular chest lightly, carefully avoiding the scars that marred it. She would trace down to his stomach, which was now a dark gray in color, and then start all over.

It was very relaxing to Severus, though also very frustrating, because how could he focus on his self-hatred if he were relaxed? _I don't deserve relaxation,_ he thought numbly, _not ever again._ The pain in his stomach had ebbed away somewhat in light of the most recent occurrence, leaving only a biting nausea in its wake. Nausea he could deal with. _I, in fact, deserve a great deal _worse _pain than nausea_. _Merlin knows_ _that would only be fair. Nausea seems like a minute price to pay…_

Hermione spoke, distracting him from his pitiful self-loathing, a break which he both welcomed and frowned upon.

"What happened? At the meeting?"

Severus sighed, tightening his grasp on her hand and running his thumb over hers lightly. "I was discovered as a spy."

"Oh, really? Because I thought the whole "near-death experience" thing was just some new trust exercise," she scoffed, though it was done good-naturedly.

Severus wished that her sarcasm _was_ aimed to hurt. He could handle anger. It was this easy forgiveness he was having trouble with.

"What I meant was how did Voldemort find out?"

Severus unconsciously pulled her closer protectively as he replayed the memory in his mind. "The Dark Lord found out about the…pregnancy," he said, stumbling over the last—the current predicament was putting quite a strain on him.

"He was planning on an attack at Hogwarts, which would have bought us an immense amount of time, until Luscius took it upon himself to single-handedly ruin everything." He spoke with so much bitterness now that Hermione wondered who he actually hated more at this point: Malfoy, or Voldemort.

"He told the Dark Lord of your absence, and eventually of mine, and you can see how my façade unraveled from there."

Hermione was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke again, all hints of humor had disappeared from her voice. "I'm sorry…"

This time it was confusion that pulled Severus out of his self-loathing.

"Sorry? Whatever do _you_ have to be sorry about?" he asked incredulously.

"I know how important your position was. I know how useful it had been. I know how hard you worked to sustain it, and I can only guess the severity of what is to come. You held a position for over seventeen years that lead us right to the den of our very worst enemy. Then I come along and ruin it, almost getting you _killed_ in the process. From now on, I'll be somewhat responsible for the casualties of this war. There's a _load_ to be sorry for." The last bit came in a harsh whisper, and he could sense that she was now fighting the same internal battle as he.

Severus sat there, stunned, for the better part of four minutes. His advanced mind simply could not wrap around her pronouncement, and when it _did, _it immediately started to dispute it.

He turned to her, letting the arm that was around her trail to the small of her back. She sat, staring determinedly ahead, for she knew he would argue with her, tell her that she was wrong, tell her things she knew weren't true. So she held it off by refusing to look at him.

Gently, so as not to jostle her already fragile condition, he grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him. Reluctantly, she raised her chocolate brown, sorrowful eyes to his face and he immediately detected the sheen of loosely restrained tears.

"Hermione," he began, "you _must_ know how wrong you are. Nothing could be further from the truth! You have absolutely no fault in the losses that are to come—"

"Oh, come _on_ Severus!" she exclaimed, exasperation fighting sorrow. "Tell me: how many lives do you predict will be lost, due only to the unearthing of your treachery? How many lives could you and Dumbledore have saved if you'd just let me fend for my own? Or even handed me over, point-blank? Surely my life isn't worth hundreds of others."

He grasped her face. "It is to me, Hermione! Your life is worth _anything_ to me! You think I don't know the consequences? You think I don't know that I've endangered more lives to save the one most close to my heart? In retrospect, it's an entirely _selfish_ act on my part because I would rather see thousands, _millions_ die than to see your life end!"

He finished his speech with a bout of heavy breathing and a calming hand placed on his now upset stomach. Her breathing, on the other hand, had hitched and to say she looked shocked would have been a gross understatement.

"You…you mean that? What I mean is…you care that much?" she sounded as though it was inconceivable; as if she was sure it was a figment of her imagination.

He leaned his face into hers and brushed her lips with his. "Yes, I care that much. I care ten times more than that. I care so much that you'd mock me if I expressed it," he whispered, lips curved into a slight smile against hers. "Hermione…I love you."

He said the phrase with so much passion, so much depth that it was as if it was an entirely new phrase than the one she'd heard uttered a thousand times before—by her parents, by actors in movies, by old friends remembering good times…all of it was wiped away and in that moment, his whispered "I love you" sounded more like a Godly song.

In a moment, her lips were latched onto his, her rounded belly pressed into his toned one as they leaned into a lying position on the couch. The nausea he'd felt moments ago was numbed by the ecstasy of her response, and her weight on him was no more painful than that of a feather—he was sure he could lay there forever and not object once. Soon, they were both so engrossed in the kiss that a war could have raged around them without their knowledge, and they didn't stop until Severus felt a tiny, fluttering nudge against his stomach.

He gasped. "Hermione…was that…?"

Hermione stared down in wonder before glancing up at him, a heartily missed joy lighting her eyes in a way that sparked a fire within him. "It's okay," she marveled. "The baby's okay!"

In a rekindled passion, their lips joined again in a kiss so intense it left them both breathless.

"Severus," Hermione whispered when they came up for air.

"Yes, my dear?" He looked into her sparkling chocolate eyes and couldn't help but smile.

She returned it with gusto. "I love you, too."


	26. Chapter 26

"_I love you, too."_

His returning smile lit up his face like a Christmas tree and, overcome in his euphoric state, he hugged her tightly to him. Giggling, she wrapped arms around his neck and rested her head on the muscular planes of his scarred chest. He clutched both arms around her back tightly, as though he thought letting go of her would cause him to burst in his current excitement. Never in all his years had he heard those words uttered to him, or even in his general vicinity. His father made it a point to demonstrate exactly how _unloved_ he actually was while his mother did nothing but hover in the shadows of Snape senior. It was the first time the phrase had been uttered to him, and the impact of it had plastered a seemingly permanent smile on his face.

For a moment, all was well in the life of Severus Snape.

"Blasted! We should've taken more care. How could I have forgotten that the Death Eaters had eyes and ears planted inside this school? Is my mind really that far gone in my advanced age? Good heavens."

Dumbledore paced the floor of his office, ferociously kicking the various chrome instruments (of whose use remains unknown to this day) that dared sit in his path. A furious Albus Dumbledore is a sight that comes not often at all, but tremendously terrifies all who bear witness. Severus Snape, however, who'd been through ordeals that could knock that out in ten seconds flat, stared blankly ahead, waiting for this tirade to end.

"Severus, do you understand the _gravity_ of this situation? Because you went and lost your position, we now have absolutely **no** insight into Riddle's plans! How could this have happened? All to save one girl…"

Dumbledore wrenched his beard harshly, unleashing his fury in an obtuse way. Immediately, Severus growled deep within his throat at the old fool's latest pronouncement.

"I think, _Headmaster_, that the most important thing here is that both Miss Granger and myself made it out virtually unscathed," Severus hissed through his teeth.

Dumbledore paid the other man's fury no mind, dismissing that last bit off with a careless wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, you're both alright. Wonderful. Tell me, Severus, will everyone else in the Wizarding community turn out as well? It is the greater good we are after!" Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes were now narrowed, looking slightly unstable. His steps were now unfocused, not in a straight line—he traipsed all about the room without even a clue that he was moving. He seemed to speak to himself now, forgetting Severus entirely. "The greater good! My _own_ life does not matter in the end, as long as the deed is done! If I can provide a better future, a better life for all creatures magical, then the lives of a mere teacher and a pregnant teenage girl ought not to matter! Not in the long run! We all must sacrifice, even if it must mean our lives."

It was in that moment that every single aspect of the war became absolutely clear to Severus. It was not a war between good and evil. It was a war between one evil and a lesser one. Lord Voldemort was evil in the most traditional sense of the word. He tortured, terrified, and murdered people for his own personal gain. He betrayed those who were loyal to him if it were of his benefit. He was blatantly wicked.

But Albus Dumbledore, beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts, honorary member of the Wizengamot, seat-holder on many Ministry boards, was wrought of a different kind of evil, one that nearly, if not equally, matched that of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore used his seemingly kindred spirit and a certain sugar-coated benevolence to get exactly what he wanted, and it was clear he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, even if it meant sacrificing a harmless unborn child. He manipulated everyone in this war to warp their minds to his way of thinking. He led you to believe that safety was his number one priority, when in truth, he would surrender the entire Order if it was advantageous to the greater good. Every member, every "good guy" was simply a pawn under Dumbledore's command.

And it was in that moment that Severus hated Albus Dumbledore every bit as much as the Dark Lord.

Severus was one his feet in a second, and had his hand clasped around Dumbledore's throat in the next.

"Don't you _dare_ speak of sacrificing Hermione," he spat.

Instantly, the insanity dissipated from the Headmaster's eyes and he looked rightfully ashamed.

"Severus…"

"_No_, Dumbledore. Silence that scheming, manipulative mouth of yours. I remain your ally in this war for the sole reason that I believe you are the lesser of two evils, but so help me, if you even _think_ those wretched thoughts again, I will bash that damned crooked nose into the ground. It might have escaped your notice, _Headmaster,_ that if I had "given up" as you so fervently wished just moments ago, I would be of absolutely no service in this war at all. As it stands now, at least I am able to fight." Severus eyed the man with disgust. "I'd always known you to be a man of many things, Dumbledore, but heartless never came to mind. Apparently, it should have."

Severus let go of Dumbledore's throat and watched as collapsed to the ground, clutching at the now prominent hand print on his neck. Had the situation been different, Severus might have felt pity for the once trusted man. Now, however, his anger blurred his vision and he felt nothing but hate.

Hate for the man whom he once thought of as a father.

**Author's Note: Hmm..didn't really mean for Dumbledore to turn out like...that. Ah, well. Sorry to those who like Dumbledore--I do, too, which is why I'm so confused. Review PLEASE.**


	27. Chapter 27

Hermione heard the furious slam of the front door and cringed. She knew Severus had gone to explain his situation to Dumbledore, and however fervently he'd tried to placate her, she'd seen through it; she knew perfectly well the Headmaster was going to be mad.

No.

No, not mad.

_Furious._

Severus stepped into the living room and began to pace, cursing under his breath vehemently. His behavior steadily grew in intensity—until his eyes finally found Hermione, sitting wide-eyed and innocent, cross-legged on the sofa.

Immediately, Severus plastered a grin on his face that shone with horrendously false cheer. "Oh…hello, love. Didn't see you there."

Hermione frowned, and through his fury, he still found the expression adorable. "Cut the act, Severus. I'm neither deaf, nor dumb. Even if you _hadn't _come in cursing like a sailor, I'd have known things didn't go so well. I know how…well, how _stubborn_ the Headmaster can be when it comes to the war effort."

Severus scoffed at how diminutive the world "stubborn" was in reference to Dumbledore's reaction, for "stubborn" didn't cover a tenth of it. Obeying, he shed his fabricated merriment and plopped down on the couch beside her.

"I am truly glad you weren't there to see," he whispered, grasping her hand and rubbing it gently with his thumb.

"Be honest—how bad was it?" Part of her didn't want to know. She wasn't lying when she said she understood. She did. Somewhat. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to know the extent of the Headmaster's anger. But she steeled herself. There would be no sugar-coating. She would find out and deal with it head on.

He gazed into those chocolate eyes, as though to gage whether or not to tell her. Or, more accurately, how _much_ to tell her. He sighed, seeing no way to ease into it without lying through his arse.

"It depends on how extensive your definition of the word "bad" is. The Headmaster expressly exclaimed his disappointment in the fact that we are both still alive. Said that sacrificing a teacher and a pregnant girl would be nothing if it meant a step toward defeating the Dark Lord."

By the end of his little speech, his calm voice had morphed into a growl of hatred. He instantly felt Hermione shudder, or perhaps jump, beside him—whether in reaction to his cruel words or his icy tone, he couldn't be sure. He glanced at her face intensely, and she shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. It was off-putting watching Hermione Granger, the most intelligent witch in her year, opening and closing her mouth with restrained questions. Finally, she gazed into his critical eyes, and he softened in the pool of milk-chocolate.

"I was prepared for anger…rage, ferocity even. But what you say sounds like—like madness_._ Sounds like _evil,_" she whispered, hurt seeping into her delicate chime.

He sighed, and suddenly most of his anger was gone, replaced by a harsh acceptance and a sharp exhaustion that belonged to a man much more advanced in years than he. "It's because that's exactly what it is. Evil. I told him I'd remain under his authority for this war on the sole reason that my only other choice is out of the question. But I swear to you, the moment this war ends, I'm out from under him for good."

Hermione leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. "And I'll be with you all the way."

**Author's Note: I know that took entirely too long, so thank you to those who continue to read. It's almost done! I'm guessing one more chapter and then an epologue. So review! **


	28. Chapter 28

"BOMBARDA!"

"HERMIONE! _HERMIONE, _WAKE UP!"

"STUPEFY! Damn, missed it…keep 'im still, Karkaroff!"

"Why don't _you_ try restraining a man with twice your strength?"

"Please, I'll come, spare the girl! Please, _Hermione!_"

"Oh, no you don't, Snape; PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Every voice was blurred, intertwined, because they all spoke up within milliseconds of each other. Hermione woke with a start and sat up as quickly as her sleep-deprived limbs could manage. What she awoke to was utter chaos.

A total of four masked and extravagantly robbed men stood at the foot of her bed, rather calm now that they were made aware of her wakefulness, waiting for a reaction. Two of them brandished wands menacingly, taking a stance in front. The other two..._dear Merlin, no…_had captives.

A man with familiar, yet cold, brown eyes peering through a chrome mask stood by her giant window, grasping the spell-bound, stiff form of Severus Snape. His face was stuck in a twisted grimace of what appeared to be pain, but whether it was external or internal, she couldn't tell. His eyes, though—his previously cold, black eyes that had just recently caught fire when they looked at her—swam in a fear that chilled Hermione to the bone. It was fear for her life.

The other intruder gripped the shoulder of Albus Dumbledore, who appeared to be both calm and present upon his own precedent. The Death Eater's grip on his shoulder was more precautionary than it was threatening. What surprised her more than her Headmaster's tranquility, however, was his face. It was uncharacteristically _spiteful;_ he looked as though he was fine with the proceedings, if not supportive. His clear, blue eyes lost their signature twinkle—it appeared to have given way to a malevolence that should have looked out of place on the old man's face, but jarringly didn't.

This couldn't be happening.

There was no way this was happening.

Instinctively, Hermione grasped at her nightstand, where she always kept her wand at night, only to find the surface empty. Panic drove her senses into hyper drive—she was highly aware of every second, every sound, every movement but at the same time, a fear-induced adrenaline rush dulled her reactions. She felt as if she was fighting her way out of quick sand and moving with super-human speed simultaneously.

And without her wand, the quick sand won out. She was doomed to sink into the possession of her enemy without being granted the decency of a fair fight.

She slowly turned around and used the only option she could see. Boldly, she lifted her big brown to meet Dumbledore's cold blue ones.

"Professor…" She whispered the word, but she was sure he heard it. The entire room was silent save for when she spoke.

"Professor, please…please, help. Why are you so calm?" She strived to keep hints of accusations out of her voice, but wasn't entirely successful.

"I am sorry, Miss Granger," he said coldly. He certainly didn't _sound_ sorry. "Had the circumstances been different, I would not be so calm. But I've been offered a deal, and I'd be a right fool if I didn't accept."

"A deal?" She choked on the word, for she knew it spelled death for her and Severus.

"A deal, Miss Granger. I hand you and Severus over without objection, and they leave my school alone."

"Your school? You mean the one I attended, and _defended_, for seven years? The one Severus has taught at for Merlin knows how long? The school he put his _life _on the line to protect? The school that Harry, Ron and I outwitted in our first year in order to save the student body? The one I warned about the Basilisk in our second year? The school that we went to the Ministry in our fifth year to rescue? That school?" She spat her speech at him as though it left a sour taste behind.

"I think you've proved, Miss _Riviera," _he said coldly, causing her to blink back a few loose tears, "that you have indeed been an asset to Hogwarts in the past. But everything I needed you to do has been accomplished. At the risk of sounding harsh, I must point out that you have ceased to be helpful to me. I had to choose: the loss of two virtually unnecessary lives in the long run verses possibly hundreds more. I was sensible. I chose the former."

She backed against the wall as one of the wand-clad men approached her. He roughly, and painfully, gripped her arm and dragged her behind him.

Hermione took a good hard look at the Headmaster's face. "You were wrong about one thing, Professor."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes.

"It's not two lives that you've given away." Finally, she couldn't restrain the tears any longer—they broke free and scrambled down her face faster than she could wipe them away. "It's three."

And for a moment, Dumbledore's face paled. It was as though he'd forgotten about her current predicament. His eyes widened and traveled down to her now third-term belly. And for a moment, she thought she'd gotten through.

But only for a moment, because it only took him a moment to climb right back onto the proverbial bandwagon on the road to destruction. His eyes reached her face again.

And he smiled.

**Author's Note:** So I know that took months, and I'm sorry. I just got back into the swing of school and all that, and trust me--highschool is not generous when it comes to free time.

Also, I lied. I said there would only be one more chapter but now I realise there are too many loose ends. Perhaps another chapter or two after this, (sufficient time to clean things up) and then an epilogue.


	29. Chapter 29

**Warning: **Sexually explicit. Not too much, but definitely not for the faint hearted. Read with caution.

_And he smiled._

Before Hermione could react, the world spun around her. She felt the familiar, sickening sensation of Apparation. When the world graciously stopped spinning, Hermione had no choice but to lean into her captor to remain standing. Apparating under normal circumstances is fairly nauseating, but it's nothing until you've tried it while you're pregnant. She clamped her eyes shut, but her captor mercilessly pulled away and dragged her with him. She opened her eyes to see Severus's stiff form beside her, his worried eyes examining her, gauging her health. She shook her head, saying she was fine. It was a lie—she was lucky she hadn't lost her dinner yet—but it would help nothing if his mind was clouded with concern.

At the sound of a fearful gasp, Hermione craned her neck over the Death Eater's shoulder. It was Dumbledore—his mouth gaped as he took in their destination. Immediately, a spare Death Eater gripped his arm—_now _it was threatening.

Hermione and Severus realized their destination for the first time.

Hogwarts.

"No, no, you said…you said you'd spare my school…you said you'd spare it!" Dumbledore was sputtering to the Death Eater's at large.

"Shut up, you ol' fool. You'd think that, with a man of your standing and _intelligence,_" sneered the man dragging Severus, "you'd think you would know not to trust the enemy."

"Like taking candy from a baby," chimed in the Death Eater pulling Hermione along.

Dumbledore's ramblings were silenced with a spell. Hermione wasn't sure if she was glad he'd been duped—on the one hand, she was ecstatic that he now looked like a fool, but on the other, now all the students in Hogwarts were in danger.

When they reached the gate, the line of Death Eaters parted to allow the one clutching Dumbledore's quaking body to pass. He mercilessly shoved the old man to the iron-clad entrance, where Dumbledore was forced (at wand-point) to undue the protective charms on the school.

Hermione and Severus were both steaming with disappointment, for they both remembered a time in which Dumbledore would have died before allowing them entrance into the school. They remembered a time when Dumbledore would have been physically pained by his betrayal toward his staff member and his student. Now, he gave the two of them up as though it was a simple trade that harmed no one. Now, he allowed the Death Eaters access out of fear for his own damned life. It was disgusting.

--BREAK--

Immediately after the gate was opened, Hermione felt the rough fabric of a makeshift blindfold being yanked over her eyes. She could only assume that Severus and the Headmaster were in the same predicament.

After a short walk (or, more accurately, a _drag_ in Hermione's case,) she felt a sharp change in temperature. The air outside was hot and damp, whereas the air surrounding her was now cool and dry. Comforting, even. Hermione knew instantly that she was inside the castle.

As soon as she set a foot inside, familiarity rushed over her like a security blanket. Delicious aromas of delectable pastries and lusciously broiled breakfast meats wafted her way; the house elves always got an early start on meals. The subtle odor of finely polished marble assaulted her nose. The soft *clang* of her footsteps upon the linoleum jerked her memory out of slumber. The undeniable sense of magic in the air, like a soft electric current, each of these things jolt her emotions into attention. All of these separate aspects of life at Hogwarts once seemed so ordinary, so routine. In fact, back then when all she had to worry about was the academics, Hermione never considered any of it as noteworthy. Now, though, as each of these familiarities ignited her senses, she felt tears stinging her eyes. Who knew that something so seemingly insignificant, such as the scents of Hogwarts, would be the very thing that one would miss the most?

--BREAK--

They walked for what seemed like hours. The blindfold was irritating the skin around his eyes, but Severus wasn't concerned about that.

No, he was concerned about Hermione. He knew, from years of watching foolish female students get pregnant, that extreme stress could set off an early birth. He'd seen women with a far more substantial build than Hermione, (and thus a better chance of carrying a child to full-term) give birth just from the anxiety of an upcoming exam. The past several years, a rule was instated in Hogwarts that an expectant student would remain in the hospital wing during her third trimester, only being allowed to leave for meals and the like.

Hermione was just barely into her third-term. She was only a week into her eighth month, and Severus had been adamant that she not lift a finger unless absolutely necessary. She had been growing rather irritated at his overprotective ways. He smiled slightly at the mental picture of her sitting in bed, her rounded belly looking entirely out of place on her tiny, lithe dancer's form, with a disgruntled frown plastered on her face. His grin turned down into an expression of anguish as he noted that all his efforts may have been useless.

He scoffed at his own wishful thinking. Here he was, worrying about her going into premature labor when she was currently in the hands of a Death Eaters he didn't fully recognize—thus, he didn't know the real danger she was in. Merlin, she could be…_dead…_before she even has a chance to go into labor. He shuddered at the thought, tears cascading down his pale face. He would do anything to save her life. He just wasn't sure it would be enough.

Severus kept thinking, if only the morning would hurry along. He'd smelled breakfast simmering in the kitchens—surely the morning couldn't be that far off. Just when he was beginning to wonder if they were still in Hogwarts (the castle wasn't large enough to walk around in for hours with a set destination in mind), Severus felt himself being half-shoved, half-thrown into a dark room. His pajama-clad body made forceful contact with an ice-cold stone floor. He heard a thud, and a feminine groan next to him and knew Hermione had met the same fate. He struggled with his magical bounds to try to reach for her, but the Petrificus Totalus was too strong. A moment later, he felt the blindfold being wrenched from his eyes, and thankfully, the blasted spell went with it. He opened his eyes, sat up and saw the circle of Death Eaters standing around him. He was intelligent enough to know that they didn't have a prayer in escaping—not when he was against wand-less against four other armed wizards. All he could do was tend to Hermione, and…hope for the best.

He whirled his head around, and his eyes fell on her vulnerable form, crumpled up against the back wall. He crawled to her on his hands and knees in desperation. The rough blindfold still covered her eyes, her arms circling her belly protectively. She was on her side now, but he had to wonder if, when she was pushed, she had fallen on her belly. He wouldn't put it past those damned Death Eaters, or Dumbledore for that matter, not to care.

Her chest was heaving, and tears seeped through the blindfold. Her cries were choked and agonized—his heart sank. She was trying so hard to keep it in…to be brave.

Just as he went to reach for her, a cold but familiar voice called out, "Careful, Severus. No wrong moves."

Hermione's ears visibly perked at the sound of his name. His heart sank even lower. His name gave her hope. What if he couldn't live up to her expectations?

"Can I at least take the blindfold off of her?" He spoke harshly. He knew he should be polite, he should suck up, but his anger got the better of him.

"Vatch that tone, Severus. You may take the blindfold off. I think she'll vant to see this."

The voice was becoming achingly familiar, but Severus pushed the thought out of his head as soon as he got the "ok". He carefully shimmied the blindfold over her head. Slowly, she opened her beautiful chocolate eyes, with those charming flecks of gold, and looked at him. Even with those heart-wrenching tears spilling out of them, they were surely the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. She let out a relieved sigh as he pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin and wrapping his arms around her. The muscles in her body relaxed into him, and he held her as tightly as he dared. Her hands gripped his chest, in an attempt to steady herself, and he placed the hand that wasn't supporting her gently on her belly lovingly. For a couple moments, he focused on trying to feel a kick, but to no avail. Hermione knew what he was searching for.

"Severus…Severus, I fell…they pushed me, I couldn't turn…"

His anger intensified. "They pushed you onto your belly. What gentlemen."

She nodded into him, her body quivering slightly—whether from tears or fear, he couldn't be sure. He kissed her forehead and began rubbing her belly comfortingly. Perhaps that would inspire a kick out of the child. If not…at least it comforted her, for the time being.

"Don't tell me, Severus. You've fallen in love," said a bitter voice from behind them. Severus turned to see Dumbledore sitting on the ground, hands tied behind his back. He seemed to accept the bitter fate of his school. Now, he seemed only concerned in saving his own lying arse.

"Years of trying to set you up with colleagues of yours, and old friends of mine, and you end up falling for a student. Never did play by the book, did you?"

"Shut up," Severus spat through clenched teeth. His hand stationary on Hermione's belly.

"What? Won't admit it? Coward…"

Severus turned his head and looked the old man in the eye. "Admit what?" he spat. "That I've fallen helplessly in love with a beautiful woman? That I intend to marry her and raise her child as my own? What's to admit? I simply did not wish to hear your deceitful voice, you arrogant bastard."

At his words, Hermione nestled her head further beneath his chin, to which her responded with another loving kiss on the top of her head. She had the same hopes, the same desires, and to hear them spoken by him was a dream come true.

Their allusion of safety was shattered, however, when Severus was unexpectedly yanked away from her. The Death Eater that captured him pulled him roughly to his feet and bound him to the opposite wall. Hermione fell back against the wall due to the abruptness of his departure. Her head hit the wall with a thud, and she gasped.

"Hermione! Love, are you alright?" Severus said from the corner of the room. He could still see her perfectly well, but was unable to pull away from the restraints.

"Fine," she mumbled, "just a bump."

"This, I'm afraid, vill not be 'just a bump,'" said the familiar Death Eater who had captured Hermione.

She looked up in shock and tried to scramble away from him, but he lunged after her. He forced her to look into his eyes and said, "Trust me. This vill be fun."

And immediately, both Severus and Hermione realized why the voice was so familiar. They realized where they'd heard it before.

Simultaneously, they uttered the word, "No." She whispered it in fear. He shouted in anguish.

And the man just laughed callously as he peeled his mask away to reveal the one face that made them both cry out.

Viktor Krum.

Who else?

He chuckled once more as she tried to get away. Foolish, foolish girl. The rest of the Death Eaters exchanged a knowing glance that said the show that was to come was guaranteed to…knock their socks off. They cleared the center of the room. Two of them went to stand on each side of Severus, who was thrashing about like he was in a hive of angry bees, just in case he managed to undo the restraints. The remaining Death Eater dragged Dumbledore out of the center of the room and sat him in the opposing corner. The Headmaster looked neither sympathetic nor interested. For the time being, he looked rather…_indifferent._

Krum mercilessly shoved Hermione into the center of the room, as if it was a stage on which he was to perform. He paid no mind to the belly she was trying so hard to protect. She fell on it again, only this time she managed to turn so that it only clipped a fraction of her stomach. She cried out in pain, and Krum grew ridiculously angry. He kicked the right side of her face with so much force that her entire body turned over. She couldn't even cry out this time. She gripped her jaw as she coughed up blood.

"No, stop it stop it, don't touch her! Hermione! _Hermione!_" Severus shouted in pure agony. None of them had ever seen the man so distraught. It only proved to be more fun for Krum.

"You remember the rules, my sveet. You may scream all you like, but no struggling. If you do," he whispered menacingly, bending uncomfortably close to her bloody face and whipping out that wretched dagger, "you know what happens. I'm not above cutting up your belly, even as _our _child struggles for its life beneath the surface."

Her eyes caught sight of the dagger, glinting off the dim light of a lantern, and her body shook with her sobs.

"Please…Viktor, don't, Viktor…"

"Ah…so you've chosen to beg," he whispered, grinning like a madman.

She glared into his charcoal eyes. "If it means saving my baby, yes."

Apparently, he didn't like her answer. He sat up and tugged her night dress to beneath her breasts. She squirmed beneath his touch, but he repositioned himself to on top of her legs so she couldn't move. Her tears fell down now well-worn tracks on her cheeks. He took a long look at her exposed belly, distended with pregnancy but not as big as would be expected. He placed a hand on her belly, and she shuddered.

Severus cringed from the corner. He was loathe to see that disgusting excuse for a man touch his beloved. Hearing him threaten her? He thought he was going into cardiac arrest. It was too much, too much.

Viktor caressed her belly for a minute, while she sobbed helplessly. Then, he replaced his hand with the dagger. Her cries intensified to those of a person in unbearable internal torment.

"Viktor," she sobbed, "please…"

He watched her face carefully, as though she was an interesting television program rather than a woman begging for the life of her unborn child. He placed the tip of the dagger in the center of her belly and conducted something of an experiment. He discovered that the harder he pushed the dagger, the more intense her crying became. He did this for several moments—push the dagger in, just light enough to not break the skin, and then remove it. He seemed continually fascinated by her reaction each time.

Everyone in the room, Death Eaters included, waited with baited breath. Severus' heart was pounding so loud that he was sure everyone could hear it. Hermione's cries tortured his ear drums. The sight of her vulnerable body, dress hiked up, with a dagger pressed against her pregnant belly sent a spear through his heart. He couldn't take anymore. Couldn't take it.

Finally, Krum removed the knife. Everyone started breathing again. "Remember," he said casually, as though the matter was of the same importance as the weather, "only you can save the child."

Hermione let out a sigh of momentary relief. She could handle anything, as long as he put that blasted knife down.

Now, Viktor got down to business. He tugged her dress the rest of the way over her head, leaving her in nothing but a matching red-lace bra and panty set. The cold floor was ice to her skin, and she gasped. Thankfully, he kept let the rest of her clothing remain on her body. She didn't know if she could handle the humiliation of being stark naked in a room full of Death Eaters, while Severus was forced to watch…

He gripped her breasts like the horny bastard he was. She clamped her eyes shut, trying desperately to block him out as she'd done before…last summer.

Finally, after exploring every inch of her body agonizingly slowly, he unzipped his fly. Her eyes were still clamped shut, but she heard it. She shivered, and prepared herself for the inevitable.

Severus, meanwhile, was fighting an internal battle on whether or not to shut his own eyes. Nothing would come of watching this, he knew that. He knew he couldn't change anything at this point. But there was a certain unease in the thought that, if he closed his eyes, he couldn't be sure what that little cockroach was doing to her.

He was saved from having to make a decision, however, because Viktor didn't waste any time. He thrust into Hermione, who covered her bleeding mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. Severus peered on with growing despair. By the time Viktor had finished, Severus felt like someone was continuously punching him in the stomach. He couldn't breath. His stomach jerked, and Severus hunched over and emptied its contents onto the shoes of the nearest Death Eater.

Viktor zipped his fly back up and readjusted his clothing. He glanced at Hermione, who was literally convulsing on the cold stone floor, and his expression changed from one of satisfaction to one of disgust.

"Wah-wah-wah," he mocked, "crying like a little baby." His eyes lit up malevolently. "Speaking of little babies…" He swooped down so that he was kneeling beside her. Her eyes watched his every action carefully. He reached for her stomach again, and her muscles tensed. She couldn't take it anymore, she flinched out of his reach. His eyes followed her, and shock spread across his face like wildfire. Now she'd done it.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she clawed her way backward until she hit the wall. She was still clad solely in her undergarments, but her skin was now immune to the cold. Terror tended to wash out every thing else.

The shock on Viktor's face was quickly overpowered by fury. He stood slowly, his body shaking with anger, and walked over to her, his steps careful, measured. He reached her, and simply glared for a moment. Then, he stomped his foot down, _hard,_ onto her right forearm, and didn't let up until he heard a crunch.

Hermione let out something of a gargled screech as her bone was crushed. He removed his foot and pounced on her, slamming his fists into every part he could reach.

"Hermione, no! No, no! Krum, stop it, stop! She's pregnant with _your_ child! YOUR CHILD! How can you not feel anything? Stop it!" Severus cried out, pleading with the man for her life.

Viktor paid him no mind. Both of Hermione's arms, even the broken one, encircled her belly. She was frantic now to protect it. He could harm any part of her he wished, as long as the baby remained untouched.

He punched her face, her eyes, her throat, her shoulders…_everything._ She felt one of her collarbones crack, and the pain was indescribable.

Finally, he let up. He sat back to survey the damage, breathing heavily. Hermione was slumped against the wall, eyelids fluttering. She'd taken too many blows. There was no telling the damage he caused. She was moaning softly, and he grinned. He reached over and retrieved the dagger from where he'd thrown it before. Once again he pushed the tip into her bare belly. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked for the source of the pain.

"No…no…" she couldn't say much else. She was losing consciousness by the second.

"Oh yes, yes. I told you not to fight me, dearie. Now, you pay," he said, grinning.

He was steadily pushing harder and harder, and a low groan started in her throat in response. She vaguely tried to bat the knife away with her non-broken hand.

And then, Severus watched as he removed the knife. He watched the scum grip his left forearm, and then noticed the rest of the Death Eaters do the same. The Dark Lord was calling.

Viktor growled in frustration. He was so close, so close. "I'll be back to finish vhat I started, love. You can be sure of that." And then, he kissed her forehead like Severus had done. Severus growled ferociously.

Viktor glanced at him, set him free of his bounds, and muttered, "Hush up, mutt," before rushing out of the room.

Severus collapsed on the ground, the icy floor biting into his skin again. It only took him a second to hurry to Hermione's limp form.

She was bleeding from _everywhere._ She had a gash at her hairline, and a streamlet of blood from the corner of her mouth. Her thin neck was already starting to bruise. Her left collarbone was indented where it had cracked, and her crushed right forearm was held against her belly by her left hand. It seemed to be hard for her to breathe—she was panting heavily.

"Hermione, love, can you hear me?" Severus nearly shouted, clutching her head tenderly in both hands. His nerves were on end.

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the pain in those gorgeous brown irises was too much for him to handle. "Severus…oh, it hurts so badly…"

Severus's chest heaved as he began to sob. He'd seen a good deal more than his fair share of tragedy, but this…he could never have imagined the pain it caused him to see her beaten, _raped_ before his eyes.

Her uninjured arm reached out to him weakly as she slid further down the wall. He hugged her tightly, knowing he had to assess her injuries but not brave enough to look at her like this. He buried his face in her hair, which quickly grew damp with his tears. She absently stroked his hair. He didn't come to until he felt her shiver, and remembered that she was wearing nothing but her undergarments.

"Darling, you must be freezing. Here," he muttered, removing his own thick, long-sleeved lounging shirt. He carefully guided it over her battered body, taking care not to jostle her. It was humorously oversized for even her pregnant belly, but it would do the trick.

"Hermione, tell me. Did he punch your stomach? Did he harm the baby?"

Hermione was rubbing her belly with a pained expression, but that wasn't necessarily cause for alarm—it could have been in response to any one of her injuries. "I don't think so. I mean, I can't recall him punching it, but it _hurts_ as though he had," she whispered. She was slowly growing more alert. Perhaps the pain was bringing her back to reality.

Severus frowned. There was no telling how injured she actually was. Carefully, he lifted the shirt back to reveal her stomach. He couldn't see any bruises in the dim light, but that didn't mean much. He brushed his hand across its surface, only to see her flinch.

"Did that hurt?"

With tears in her wide eyes, she nodded.

His frown deepened. He knew he'd barely touched her. As gently as possible, he laid his hand on her belly. She gasped and gripped his arm.

"That's not right," he muttered worriedly. "It shouldn't hurt that badly, right? Even if he had punched you…something's wrong, something's wrong." He was steadily growing into a panic.

Hermione gasped again, but this time he didn't even touch her. "Severus," she gasped, "I think I'm going into labor."


	30. Chapter 30

Severus's blood ran cold. Time slowed to a stop. His body froze, and his eyes locked with hers, terror inscribed in them like an engraving on a tombstone.

"No," was all he could mutter. "No, no, no…"

Hermione gasped as the pain gripped her more intensely. "You can wish it away all you want," she wheezed, battling her shock, "it doesn't change the fact that it's happening."

She groaned lightly as the pain intensified. "And happening quickly," she added, clamping her eyes shut.

Severus was at a loss. He watched her grapple with the contraction, unsure of whether to sob at their misfortune or rage at the awful timing.

She clutched his arm as the contraction eased. "Oh, Merlin," she whispered, her eyes darkened with dread.

"What shall I do?" Severus said, grasping the hand that clutched his arm and holding it between both of his own.

Hermione shrugged, worry clouding her face. Neither had any clue how to go about birthing a baby.

"You two are lucky I'm here," said a voice that was slowly drawing nearer.

Severus whipped his head around to see Dumbledore inching towards them cautiously. "Lucky isn't the word I would've chosen," Severus spat at the old man before turning back to his terrified beloved.

A hand clapped his shoulder. "Severus," the old man said, "I know that I'm no longer your favorite person in the world. Merlin, I was _never_ your favorite person—"

Severus growled in agreement. Dumbledore ignored it.

"But right now, I'm your only option. I'm not saying that I've 'seen the error of my ways', because that's ridiculous and cliché, and this happens to be real life," he said with an air of bitterness.

Severus bit his lip to keep from retorting harshly until he weighed his options. At a loss, he gazed at Hermione, whose pain-filled eyes pleaded with him for help. He had no choice.

"What do you know about birthing a baby?" Severus said through clenched teeth.

Dumbledore grinned, as if hearing a joke the others were blind to. "Plenty. I've delivered a total of 13 babies throughout my years."

It was clear that Dumbledore was eager to tell a story, but Severus was _not _in the mood. He repositioned himself to behind Hermione to support her, so that Dumbledore could medically examine her. "All right. But so help me, old man," he growled, "you try anything funny and you won't be around to laugh about it."

Dumbledore blew off the threat with a roll of his now cold blue eyes. "I've been threatened by far more dangerous people than you, Severus. But trust me. I've got nothing to gain by practical jokes."

Severus was far from satisfied, but he dropped the subject. Instead, he smoothed Hermione's shimmering black hair away from her face with one hand, wrapping the other around her firmly to keep her skin from touching the cold stone floor. She was breathing heavily with her mouth closed, as though trying to conceal a pant. She was trying to stave of the actual act of giving birth. Of course, it was in vain.

"Are you all right, love?" he murmured lightly in her ear.

She waited until the contraction eased before she trusted herself enough to open her mouth in fear of emitting a scream. "It hurts," she whispered. "More than I could've imagined."

His lips sought her temple, where he placed a light kiss just below the gash at her hairline. "I know, love," he whispered back. "Hang in there."

Observing how tenderly she treated her obviously broken arm, he shifted so that her weight was pressed against his stomach and his hands were free. Then, he stripped himself of his undershirt and constructed a makeshift sling into which he placed the arm. Then, he slung it along the shoulder with the crushed collar bone to keep that from moving, as well.

"I can't even feel those," she muttered as she came down from the next contraction. "I could never have imagined how badly childbirth hurts. Why do women have children? Dear, Merlin…"

In any other situation, her cynicism would certainly have made him laugh. Now, though, he just couldn't find it funny.

Dumbledore stopped his prodding and sat back on his calves. He wiped his brow of cold sweat and eyed Severus cautiously.

"She's definitely going into labor," he murmured.

Severus sighed. "Isn't it too early, though? How can that be? She's barely eight months along."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. For a moment, it almost seemed like he cared. "You didn't let me finish. She's going into a pre-mature labor."

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's taking so long, guys. I've decided to break up the last few chapters so I won't have any more month-long hiatuses. PLEASE REVIEW, like always =].


	31. Chapter 31

"Oooh," Hermione moaned, grinding her head against Severus's stomach in pain.

Severus cursed softly at the old fool's latest pronouncement. _What else could go wrong? _He thought cynically.

He brushed away stray tendrils of hair as she collapsed against him when the contraction eased. She was panting heavily and it wracked his nerves. He knew child birth wasn't a walk in the park, but at what point should he start to worry?

To Hermione, it seemed that Dumbledore was slowly slipping back into his old self. His seemingly kind-hearted, yet treacherous self.

"If I might beg your indulgence, Miss Granger," he murmured, "but I must see the child."

Hermione, who was slowly being eased off the latest contraction, furrowed her sweaty brow at him. "Excuse me?" she muttered, utterly perplexed.

Dumbledore motioned to the hem of her dress, insinuating that he must lift it and she understood, nodding the affirmative. Snape, however, grasped Dumbledore's reaching wrist.

"Hang on," he growled. He carefully removed the shirt he'd placed around her shoulders earlier—his black nightshirt—and lifted the hem of the dress himself, replacing it with the nightshirt in record time. He was striving so hard to protect her modesty in such a delicate, and yet _im_modest situation. He did it mainly for his piece of mind.

Dumbledore argued not, for his concern was—thankfully—purely medical. He finally lifted the dress to her ribcage, exposing her rounded belly.

Hermione watched carefully, perplexedly as Dumbledore placed his hand upon the tanned half-circle. Closing his eyes, his mouth was set into motion. Frantic, intangible whispers flurried across his dry, cracked lips.

She half-wondered if there was a history of clinical insanity in the Dumbledore, until her very skin turned an almost dazzling white. Gasping, she murmured, "What in Merlin's name…"

Severus, though slightly more in-the-know than she, was still taken aback. "He's doing earth magic," he whispered into her ear.

"Wandless magic?" she whispered incredulously. She'd heard of such a skill, of course. She also knew that only the most talented of wizards possessed the ability. She just didn't know that Dumbledore, recent _betrayer _of the side of the Light, was among them.

"Mmhmm," Severus confirmed, enwrapped in the sheer power of the magic.

In Dumbledore's mind's eye, he saw what he sought. Under layers of skin and organs roamed a child, barely large enough to survive outside of the womb. Despite the child's small size, however, it was struggling within the obviously tight confines in which it lay. The girl just wasn't a big enough woman to carry a child to term.

He removed his hand when he felt her stomach convulse. Arching her back, she dealt with the newest contraction, growling desperately.

Dumbledore spoke to Severus. "I could see the child," he muttered. "Hermione isn't big enough to carry a child. She's just a girl, and an unusually small girl at that. It's premature labor and it's happening quickly."

Severus smoothed the lines of his face and waited for this contraction to ease. It was the longest one yet. When the pain finally _did_ release her, her eyes fluttered shut and she buried her face into Severus's stomach.

It caused him to take a moment to contemplate just how scared the poor girl must be. Once you strip away all the complications and their emotions for one another, the fact of the matter is that this was just a seventeen year old rape victim about to give a premature birth. _Anyone_ would be scared. In that moment, his heart bled for her.

And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, the door to the dungeon edged open. Terrified, Dumbledore backed himself away from Hermione and Severus, as though they were poisonous. Placing himself around her protectively, he braced himself for the worst. He was ready.

The door finally swung open the rest of the way. Standing in the door way, rather than a man that resembled a snake, was perhaps, in that moment, the most beautiful sight Severus had ever seen. Fore, standing there was a lanky, bespectacled boy with emerald eyes and the most peculiar scar, brandishing the bloodied Gryffindor sword.

**Author's Note:** If you're reading this after all these months, then I love you with all of my heart. If you REVIEW, I'll owe you my life.


	32. Chapter 32

Simultaneously, three exclamations of "Harry!" sounded with excitement. Harry grinned, surprised that even the superfluously surly Snape was delighted to see him.

His grin gave way to horror, however, when he witnessed Hermione's delicate condition.

"Thank Merlin it's you," she whispered. Her body eased from her latest contraction and she summoned the strength to smile at him.

The sword clattered to the floor when he rushed to her side. "Hermione," he murmured, speaking to himself. Glancing at Severus, he asked, "She's not…?"

Severus nodded rather grimly. "She is."

Harry floundered at the awful timing, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear tenderly. "I've missed you these past months," he whispered, kissing her forehead ever so gently.

She cupped his pale check and smiled into those sorely missed emerald eyes. Then, seeming to regain her sense of reality, she exclaimed, "Harry, you shouldn't be here. They're out there—the Death Eaters."

Harry nodded. "Yes they're out there." Slowly, steadily, a smile brightened the boy's face.

"I hardly regard this as a laughing matter, Potter," Snape snapped.

Harry's smile didn't falter. His eyes remained on Hermione's chocolate ones as he whispered, "They're being rounded up as we speak."

Hermione's face was aglow with rapture. "You mean, it's over? We won?"

"You managed to _kill_ the Dark Lord?" Snape asked skeptically, although his tone was touched with admiration.

"He managed to kill himself," Harry exclaimed, giddy with the knowledge that he wasn't a murderer. Hermione knew, explicitly from his letters over the last few months, that he was growing increasingly more worried about having to take a life.

"He performed the murderous spell," Harry explained, "I managed to block it. It rebounded and hit him squarely in the chest."

Hermione beamed up at him when Snape asked, "And the collateral damage?"

The smile slid off of Harry's face slowly, and Hermione's heart began to race. How many friends had been lost?

"The castle is in tip-top shape," Harry muttered, though he knew what Snape had meant. At Snape's withering look, he sighed. Rattling off the names with an almost inhuman detachment, he began. "Colin Creevey, Kingsley, Dean Thomas…" He trailed off, catching his breath. His voice had begun to quaver, belying his neutral expression. "Professor Flitwick, Rufus Scrimigeour, Luna Lovegood—"

"No," Hermione gasped. Each name had been a blow to the gut, but _Luna?_ She wasn't sure she could handle much more.

Harry nodded, chocking back tears for the first time. "Pushed clear off the third floor banister. It's, erm…it's not a pretty sight."

"Who else?" Snape murmured, not wanting to think about the innocent blonde any longer.

Harry swiped at his tears. "Hannah Abbot, Marcus Flint, Professor Trewlaney, and…uh…"

"Who?" Hermione whispered. "Say it."

A sob escaped the boy's lips. "Fred Weasley."

"Oh, no…not Fred," Hermione cried. Tears trickled down well-worn tracks on her cheeks. "Poor Molly, poor George…"

Harry nodded, grinding at his eyes. "Ron and McGonagall are laid up in the hospital wing. They're going to make a full recovery," he added at Hermione's panicked look.

Severus massaged his temples lightly. So many students…_children…_ He braced Hermione as she once again tensed into a contraction. Harry, looking frightened and unsure of himself, simply let her squeeze his hand in pain.

"We need to move her," Snape murmured as the contraction melted right into another, giving the girl no time to rest. "There's no way I'll allow for her to give birth on the grimy floor of a dungeon."

Harry nodded his agreement. For the first time, his eyes fell on the secluded form of the Headmaster. He offered no explanation, no "job well done"—nothing.

Harry looked at Snape, who had been following his gaze. A deep growl built up in the professor's throat and he shook his head. Harry nodded, perplexed, assuming he'd get an explanation later. He understood a bit more, however, when Dumbledore didn't so much as offer them a hand with Hermione.

Having been in the far corner of the room, he hadn't heard the whole of Harry's pronouncement. "Harry…the fight, it's over?"

Harry glanced at him and nodded, trying in vain to mask his confusion. Relief washed over Dumbledore's face. He glanced at Hermione—almost apologetically—before sprinting from the room.

Dumbfounded, Harry asked, "The in Merlin's name has gotten into him?"

Snape cleared his throat gruffly. "Shock to me, as well, Potter. He told me that it would've been easier had Hermione and myself been sacrificed for 'the greater good'. I knew the prospect of war put a lot of strain on him, but I will never forgive him for such a notion."

Harry's face flushed with anger. He rose, indignantly, undoubtedly intending to wreak havoc on the old man's psyche. Snape grabbed the entails of his shirt, halting his progress.

"There's nothing you can do now, boy," he growled, more frustrated with the situation than with the boy himself. "Just help me with Hermione. Walk ahead of us, make sure the coast is clear."

Harry thought a moment. "I'll do you one better," he muttered after a moment or two. From his pocket, he withdrew length of silky, nearly transparent cloth.

Snape, nodding in understanding, collected Hermione into his arms and stood tall. Harry flung the cloak over the two of them and they disappeared instantly.

"I've never had a possession as valuable as the invisibility cloak," Harry murmured at length, surveying his success—the blank space in front of him. "We've yet to find Krum and I'll not be taking chances."

Snape's voice came from seemingly no where, which caused Harry to erupt into ill concealed laughter. "If you're quite through, Potter, I suggest you lead the way." The malice that usually would have been woven into his words was replaced with concern for the girl in his arms. Harry sobered immediately and led the way.

Stepping into the corridor was like entering a portal to another dimension. The bodies of the injured, and also the dead, were strewn about the hall almost carelessly. Healthy patrons ran amuck, either tending to the fallen or capturing the villain. Many stopped in their tracks to stare at Harry. Many even paused to applaud him. Even the injured, who lay moaning on the bloodied floor, fell silent.

Harry smiled thankfully but didn't once hinder his progression down the hall. Snape followed closely at his trails with a groaning Hermione in tow. They were both grateful for the current din, because otherwise their cover was blown.

Several hundred of the portraits on the walls hung haphazardly—some had even fallen and now were lying in a pile of dust on the floor. Snape continuously had to dodge people who kept running straight at him, unawares, much to Hermione's discomfort.

On the way to the Hospital Wing, they passed the Great Hall and all paused to momentarily survey the damage. The number of bodies multiplied ten-fold. Hermione saw the weakened form of Neville Longbottom hovering over Luna's crumpled silhouette. Scanning the room, her eyes fell on the heart-wrenching clan of redheads, huddled together. Molly wept noisily over the form of her motionless son while George gripped his twin's cold hand. Suddenly, Hermione was groaning for an entirely new reason.

Seeing the display, Snape quickened his pace. The girl was upset enough. The sooner they made it to the Medi-witch, the better. As could be expected, the Infirmary was alight with action when they finally made their way down. Healers had flown in from St. Mungo's and were buzzing from bed to bed, checking on the injured. Shaking the cloak off when he saw no sign of Krum, Snape got the attention of the nearest Healer—a male who's nametag read "Owens." He was a man of about 30, with laugh lines around his cerulean blue eyes. His blonde hair was swept to one side. The only thing that threw his good-looks out of whack was the slight paunch gathered around his middle.

Surveying Hermione, he asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

The man was as calm as a sleeping baby in a sea of disarray. It was _not _a quality Snape admired. If Snape was concerned, he felt the healer should be so, as well.

"She's going into labor," he murmured, gently depositing her on the nearest available bed. Asking for privacy would've been like asking the Dark Lord to leave Harry alone. It wasn't going to happen.

Much to Snape's approval, the healer's smile faltered. "Ye Gods," he murmured, "we really are seeing _everything_ tonight."

After a quick examination, he confirmed Snape's suspicions. "She's going into a premature labor, all right," the healer sighed in dismay.

Snape gulped harshly. It was the first time Harry had every seen the man…_concerned._ "Can you stop it?"

Owens shook his head, unable to fully meet Snape's eyes. "Had she been brought before us sooner, perhaps. But it's too far gone now."

"What chance does the child have?" Snape muttered. His voice came out in a whispered rush, as if he couldn't stand to have the words on his lips.

Owens shrugged, furrowing his brow at Hermione's completely distracted face before replying. "I'd like to say it's a 50/50 chance…"

Snape crossed his arms, running his hand over his mouth to mask his horror. "I see a 'however' on the horizon."

Owens clapped a hand on Snape's shoulder. "It's probably more like 40/60. I'm sorry, sir."

Snape waved off his apology because he simply didn't have the strength to acknowledge him. Beside him, Harry began to pant lightly. His apprehension overcame him. "And Hermione?" Snape whispered at long last. "What about Hermione?"

Owens' lips cracked into a small smile, but it was laced with sadness. "Mum's odds are a bit better," he said. His smile faltered, though, when he muttered, "But not much."

Author's Note: I KNOW, I'm sorry that it's sad but keep reading. Just keep reading. Also, I kept some of the Final Battle facts the same and I changed some. Also also, please reviewwww!


	33. Chapter 33

"Get off me," growled a voice from behind Snape. His heart stopped as his eyes met Hermione's. Despite from the torrent of labor pains racking her body, a horrid recognition gripped her. They turned at the same moment to seek the source of the voice.

Not again.

Viktor Krum stood not 20 feet from them, desperately trying to wrestle his way from the seemingly (and, hopefully) firm grips of Rubeus Hagrid and Alastor Moody. Seeing Potter take a menacing step forward, Snape moved to block him slightly, but ended up granting him easier access. At least he could say he "tried" to stop the boy if things got out of hand.

Krum finally laid his eyes on the sight before him. First upon a snarling Potter, then on a characteristically scowling Snape. Finally, his eyes met Hermione's on the four-poster bed and Krum's chapped lips cracked into a smile.

Something inside Severus's head snapped. How dare he smile at her? How dare he smile as she lay crumpled in childbirth, a childbirth _he_ forced upon her? He whipped his want out in the mere seconds it took to close the distance between them. Pressing the tip into the smug boy's jugular, Severus swooped low over him.

"One word," he murmured menacingly, "and you won't have to wait for the Dementors in Azkaban to feel the chill of _death_."

Snape was immediately restrained, but not before he had the satisfaction of witnessing the fear sweep across his features. Turning his attention to Moody, he ordered, "Lock him up."

There was a definite scuffle, but Snape turned his back on the entire situation. Taking Hermione's hand, he gripped her chin to gently guide her eyes to his. Instead of the fear he expected, he was met with a hard resignation. It struck admiration, and a little bit of fear, within him.

She whispered something; her tone was so soft that he was forced to bend low in order to hear. "It's coming," she mumbled, letting her head rest on the pillows momentarily. She was so ardently fighting the urge to scream, considering their current company, but such a feat was proving down right impossible—especially without that blessed epidural. Oh, the humanity.

Snape set his jaw, not revealing the fear bubbling beneath his skin. Truth be told, if Hermione didn't make it through the delivery, he knew he'd be lost. While it was true that he'd managed all these years unaccompanied, he couldn't bare the thought of braving the world in solitude again now that he'd been blessed with true love's kiss. He couldn't even imagine the sort of pain she must be in. It was in that moment that he fully appreciated the opposite gender.

Hermione's heart was more active than a house-elf on butterbeer. Her whole body ached. Her throat was sore from the task of suppressing each painful scream. She'd heard what the doctor had said; she'd heard her odds of survival. And yet, more than anything, she wanted the whole ordeal over and done with. She grasped at Severus's white-knuckled hand.

The next half-hour was so blurred in Harry's mind that he couldn't be sure if the recollection was even accurate. Hermione's screams rang in his ears. Severus's face, pale with fear, was etched into his corneas.

When the doctor moved to the foot of Hermione's bed and began to hike up the hem of her nightgown, Harry high-tailed it to a safe position from the head of it, where Severus was. Hermione, like Severus, grew very pale—even though sweat was literally pouring from her forehead.

Severus had expected to be put off by the experience. In theory, the notion of childbirth wasn't even slightly appealing. But in that half-hour, Hermione Granger was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Hermione knew that she'd never done as much panting in her life as she did that half-hour. As time progressed, she became uneasily aware of the number of eyes on them. What she wouldn't give for a private room. Finally, Harry pulled the curtain around them with a flick of his wand.

Grabbing Hermione's hand, he whispered, "I'll be right outside, Hermione." Kissing her forehead, he retreated quietly, praying to Merlin that wasn't the last time he'd be seeing her. Alive.

"Baby's coming," the doctor murmured. He didn't sound entirely pleased.

In that moment, Hermione's brain grew fuzzy. The light dimmed, her eyes shut. She was vaguely aware that she was being told to push, so push she did. The pain exploded around her midsection—her heart beat was growing faster and faster. _This is it_, she thought. _And I'll never get to say good-bye…_

-BREAK-

"Hermione?"

…_What?_

"Hermione, love, can you hear me?"

_Severus?_ It was him. It was his voice. She tried to speak—she tried so hard—but the only sound that came out of her was a mangled groan.

"Oh my God, she's alright."

"Hermione, darling, wake up. Wake up, please, love."

It took all of her strength, but finally, her eyes flickered open. The doctor stood over her, checking her vitals frantically. "She's okay," he murmured, in awe almost. "It's a miracle."

Hermione, gaining strength by the moment, furrowed her brow. Her memory was more than fuzzy. "Sorry?"

Beside the doctor, looking as delighted as the other man was shocked, stood Harry, rocking back and forth with barely restrained excitement. His friend's survival was the greatest gift, in his opinion, bestowed upon Hogwarts that day. It was unsurpassable.

Finally, Hermione's eyes fell just beyond the foot of the bed. There stood Severus, gently cradling a bundle in the crook of his strong arms. "The baby…" Hermione murmured. "The baby survived? It's alright?"

"She's fine," Severus gasped, his joy over the newborn battling with the elation he garnered from Hermione's wakefulness. "She's fine, you're both fine. It _is _a miracle."

Hermione breathed in sharply. "She?" A daughter. She had a daughter. She hadn't given much thought to the sex of the child. Now, it was tangible. And somehow, gazing upon the sight of a grown, muscular man cradling a tiny baby girl in his arms was the most touching thing in the world to her.

Severus nodded, calmly approaching Hermione and placing her daughter in her arms. "What will you call her, love?"

"What will _we_ call her," Hermione amended. The correction caused a beaming smile on Severus's face. "Avery," she said finally.

Snape's smile widened. "Avery."

The miniscule infant, weighing a mere 5 lbs., smiled up at her mother. Equipped with an abundance of black curls, her eyes twinkled joyfully. Big brown eyes.


	34. Epilogue

**NOTE: So, it's been, what? Seven months? I'm so sorry. For a while, I thought I was just going to leave it as is, but I figured all you faithful readers deserved to know what happened to our happy family. So, tuck in and enjoy the epilogue of "Not So Typical". **

Hermione took a deep breath and faced the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10. Then, as she'd done so many times in the past, she walked briskly but inconspicuously right through it. Nostalgia crowded her mind as the sound of eager students fleeing from their cautious parents rang in her ears.

She opened her eyes and found herself facing a crimson train, emitting clouds of steam as its departure sound blared. And not 20 feet from her was a tall man draped in long robes with raven hair that reached just past his chin. He clutched the hand of a squirming young girl with a head of black curls and eyes of pure chocolate. She was already pulling the man toward the boarding gate, even as he searched desperately for Hermione.

Finally, his eyes found her and his anxious face melted into a calmed smile. For a minute, he thought she might actually miss her own daughter's exodus.

The young girl wasn't as amused. "Mum, the train is _leaving,_" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched and stressed.

Hermione smiled and brushed a curl that had escaped the girl's braid. She was _so_ much like her mother was when she started school. "You'll make it, darling, you'll make it. They wouldn't dare leave without you."

Avery grinned triumphantly. Then, her smile faltered a bit.

Severus knelt down beside his adopted daughter and took her hand. "What is it, love? First day of school jitters?"

The girl squeezed his hand. "What if they don't like me?"

Hermione faked a gasp. "What's not to like? You're smart, funny and _beautiful_!"

Avery rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile.

Severus chuckled. "You write daddy the names of anyone who doesn't like you and I'll be sure to set them straight."

This received a laugh. Their delightful little girl was back to her confident self just as the train signaled once more. Her eyes grew wide. "I'm late!"

She hugged her parents simultaneously, for the sake of saving time. She then tugged on a trunk that was bigger than she until she reached the train. With one final wave, she disappeared into a crowd of bustling older students.

Severus wrapped his arm around Hermione, whose brow was furrowed with worry. "She'll be fine, dear. She's utterly headstrong and clever as a prophet. She takes after her mother."

Hermione smirked and shoved his shoulder away lightly. His throaty laugh tickled her heart. Eleven years later and he still excited her every fancy.

She felt a tug on the hem of her skirt, and turned around, smirking.

"Mummy," said the dark haired little boy at her feet, "when is it my turn? When can I ride on the train?"

Severus scooped up his son and positioned the boy on his hip. "Tell you what, Lucas. You can ride the train when you reach your sister's age!"

The little boy pouted. "That's a long time," he complained.  
Hermione chuckled. "Seven years will go by in a heart beat, sweetie. Don't rush it. You might be my last baby!" She tickled the boy until he couldn't stifle his laughter.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, already distracted by a young boy who had passed with a broom for toddlers.

As he ran ahead of them, Severus turned to Hermione, his eyes glinting mischievously. "He doesn't _have _to be our last," he whispered, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.

Hermione laughed and leant into him as they turned to follow their sun. "We'll talk more at home."

Severus chuckled and they merged with the hustle and bustle of the muggles in the Crossing, going about their days just as they would any other. An ordinary day, indeed.

**Final Note: I want to say a huuuuge thanks to everyone who actually read this last chapter and to all those who gave me lovely reviews over the past...three years? Has it really been that long? Goodness! The process was fun and, though I don't think I'll be writing very much in the near future, I have certainly treasured the experience. Thank you all, please review this very last installment!**


End file.
